Killing the Daisies
by thesolitary-dragon
Summary: TJ loses the love of his life.  When everyone is telling him to let go, can he hold on to what little he has left of her? NOT a oneshot. UPDATED!
1. Bleak Start

A/N: Alright, I decided to start this because it's slowly eating at my soul. Now, I know what you're all saying, _what about WSL? FINISH THAT DAMNIT!_ Well, maybe not all of you. I promise, I will finish it, and soon too. I plan on working on this and WSL alongside one another, and since this one isn't going to be too long, I hope to finish them around the same time. Now that that's settled.

This is going to be very, _very_ angsty, but that's not all that it will be. It's a...hm...I would like to believe that perhaps it is different than any of the other angst filled, TJ has to learn to live without Spinelli, painfully sad, and unsettling, bawl your eyes out deathfics. But, I don't know, that's up to you. There's going to be romance in this yes, and really, it's a...hm...it's about the lives of these people that have to deal with this horrible tragedy and perhaps the biggest tragedy of all, watching the first really horrible tragedy tear their best friend apart.

Summary: TJ loses the love of his life unexpectedly. When everyone is telling him to let go, can he hold on to what he has left of her. Can he move on without losing her? Yes, this will be extremely sad, and very, _very_ miserable in places. It will be switching point of views, from first person to third person, so I hope it doesn't get confusing. There will also be a little, hm...foul language, sexuality, mention of suicide, drugs, alcohol abuse (You know, nothing out of the ordinary from my stories), oh, and also a questioning of the existence of God...(I'm "atheist" (sort of...), for a heads up, so God won't be a big part in the story, but I hope that I won't take an "atheist's" pov on the part where He is important, because I do respect those that do believe in Him.)

Alright, pull out the box of tissues and...ENJOY!

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Chapter 1: Bleak Start

It was 4:12 when I was startled awake that dark morning. I remember because I glanced at the digital clock beside my bed. Somehow it seemed important that I know the time. I was absolutely convinced that I was dead, as there could be no other explanation for that cold and empty feeling that had settled on me like a dark cloud. Of course, that was four hours before I learned that the love of my life, my soul mate, my dream girl, my everything, my significant other, my wife, was dead.

I received a phone call, which, I might add is the worst way to tell someone that the person he or she loved more than life is gone. I'm terrified of phones now, probably why for the first year or so after her death I didn't have one. I recall the conversation distinctly; it would always be clear and vivid in my mind even if everything else that day wasn't.

"Mr. Dettweiler?" the man on the end of the phone had said, and while it was supposed to be an adult way of addressing me I felt very much like a child. He told me my wife, one Ashley Funicello Dettweiler was in a horrible accident and presumed dead. Presumed. That's they're way of saying, she's undoubtedly dead but since we have no body we'll let you lie awake every night for the rest of your life wondering if it's really true. I asked all the questions you're supposed to ask and still find it impressive that I was able to form coherent sentences at all. _How?_ Plane went down. _When? _That morning, around 4:10 to 4:20. I wanted to scream "it was 4:12 you inaccurate assholes," but I didn't. _Where?_ On the flight from San Diego. She was on her way home. They answered all of my questions except for, perhaps, the most important one; _why?_ No one seemed capable of giving me even a partially satisfactory answer to that one simple question.

The man told me it was probably a quick and painless death, as though somehow the knowledge would comfort me. I thanked him, though it seemed inappropriate. Where you supposed to thank the person who practically ripped your heart out?

For a long time after the call I sat staring blankly into space. I don't think I cried. I should have cried. But I couldn't. Somehow I thought if I cried, it would make it real, it would make it all real. And surely, _surely_, it had to be a bad dream. Didn't it?

-0-0-0-0--------May 2000--------0-0-0-0-

I stared at my front door anxiously feeling the knot in my stomach twist once more before I entered the small blue house with the white picket fence around the perfect green yard, and the pretty wooden mailbox that read Dettweiler across the side in shiny gold letters. My house.

"I'm home," I called and waited for an answer. I'd been gone for the weekend, on a camping trip with a few friends as far as my parents knew. I was supposed to be back four hours before, but things got off schedule. To be honest, we didn't even go to the forest.

"TJ? You're late for dinner," my mother called from the kitchen and I could hear the sink faucet running.

"We've already cleaned up, son," my dad put in from the family room that was joined to the kitchen. I could also hear the television playing; it was tuned in on a football game and from the sounds of the crowd the home team was winning.

"That's alright," I replied, tossing my coat on the rack, "I already ate. I have something to tell you guys."

"Can it wait 'till after the game?" my dad asked as I joined him.

"No," I muttered, "It's important." I tried to force a smile, present the news happily. It was good news, after all, at least to me it was. My mother leaned on the counter that looked out into the living room in the kitchen, dishtowel in hand. She placed her hand on her hip and frowned slightly.

"What is it?" she inquired in the drawn out exasperated tone only a mother can achieve.

"First things first," I told them, "You have to promise not to get mad, yell, or overreact." It was a promise that, despite my confidence, I doubted they could keep. My father straightened in his reclining chair, muting the television.

"Oh Christ, Theodore, you're not in trouble at school again, are you? At the end of the weekend you tell us too, figures," my mother moaned.

"There's only a month left, son," my father started in, "You didn't pull another laxative in the principle's coffee again, did you?"

"Hey, I had to do that dad," I argued, riled up by the reminder of that innocent, little 'prank', "He was going to give all us guys the 'Wet Dream Lecture' again. I've heard it like, a hundred times already..." Besides, they still couldn't prove that one was me; I thought to add, but then of course...

"Young man, if the next words out of your mouth are 'they can't actually prove it was me, yet' or 'it was really supposed to be just a harmless joke', you are so..."

"Mom, would you please," I interrupted.

"Do we have to call the principle, again? Poor Monty, maybe I should bake him one of my famous Triple layer Chocolate cakes," my mother mused.

"It's your turn to go down there for a talk, honey," my father told her tersely.

"Oh, honestly, should we ground him this time? Maybe we should leave punishment ideas up to Monty, like he offered last time..."

"Me and Spinelli eloped," I said quietly. Not quietly enough though, as both my parents fell silent. I braced myself against that unusual hush.

"That's not a funny joke," my mother finally stated, her face particularly blanched, her lips pursed together, splotchy white.

"It's not a joke, mom," I mumbled, occupying myself with procuring all lint from my cotton sweater. I couldn't look them in the face, I didn't want to. I could feel their anger and that was enough.

"What do you mean you eloped?" my father boiled over.

"We...um...drove to the town over...there's a nice little chapel there...and no one knew us so...we were married," I shrugged, "I mean, it wasn't that hard. We're both adults, so..."

"_Adults_? You're only eighteen, still in highschool! You are too young!" my mom screeched. With the realization that what I was saying was not, by any means a joke, the yelling began. I could only make out a few of the things they were hollering, and I tried to answer what questions I could, but they weren't making it easy.

"Why would you do this?" my father demanded, "To humiliate us?"

"Is Ashley pregnant?" my mother gasped.

"No, mom," I cried.

"Do you have any idea how stupid you are being?" my father hissed, "Marriage is not a game, it's a commitment that you are not ready to enter!"

"You're just a kid, TJ, with a great deal of potential! How could you screw up your life like this?" my mother screamed, "Are you sure she isn't pregnant? You're not lying? Because we know the family she comes from, there's no certainty that if she's pregnant it's yours!"

"Mom!" I snapped. That was enough. As far as I was concerned, they had no say in this, and I especially didn't appreciate the way they were talking about Spinelli, "First of all, you've known her since kindergarten, and you know she's not like that! Second of all, I don't see this as screwing up my life. I didn't do this to hurt you guys; I did this for her and me. _We_ did this for her and me. We're in love, and it felt right. We've been in love our entire lives, it's not like we're going to up and change our minds!"

"Then why? If you're going to be in love for the rest of your lives, why couldn't this wait?" my mother demanded, her voice hoarse from the yelling she'd been doing.

"I...I can't tell you..." I mumbled. I'd gotten a full scholarship to pretty much any college I wanted but I couldn't leave Spinelli behind. The only thing I could think of was marrying her, and then they'd have to accommodate for the both of us, right? There were schools with dorms for married couples. I just couldn't tell my parents that, because they'd use it against me. Spinelli and I had known we were going to get married someday. I'd already had plans to propose to her on our graduation day, but then, I received the scholarship letter in the mail and everything seemed to happen so fast, and it all seemed so right. We'd been planning things for weeks.

"Where is Ashley?" my mother finally asked, exasperated.

"Telling her parents," I replied, my eyes downcast. Moments ago I'd never been happier. Leave it to my parents to crush that feeling and tarnish what we'd done.

"I think we'd better call Bob and Flo and get them over here," I'm not certain which of my parents said this, but my father left the room to do just that.

"What were you two thinking?" my mother snarled with my father gone, and the disappointment in her voice clouded over me and I'd never felt worse in my life, "This has got to be the worst plan you've ever concocted. But we will fix this. We can have this thing annulled."

"We're not going to, mom," I said steadily, scared to death that they could actually erase that day. It wasn't fair. We were adults; it was our choice. And shouldn't our parents be happy for us?

A few hours later I found myself sitting up in my old tree house Fort Tender, my legs dangling out the entrance. Spinelli, my wife, which are words I love saying in regards to her, sat beside me, her head resting against my shoulder, our fingers laced within one another's.

"You know, it's funny how 'adults only' conversations still exclude us," she muttered. Our parents were shouting, as far as we could tell, arguing and more often then not they were loud enough for us to hear quite clearly what they were saying.

"This is all that tramp daughter of yours fault. My baby boy would never do anything this ridiculously stupid," that would be my mother.

"You're blaming Ashley for this? This sort of seedy event has your boy's name written all over it! That perverted little bastard son of yours couldn't pass up the opportunity to snake his way into our little girl's life and tarnish her reputation and innocence!" And that would be Spinelli's father, now my father-in-law, though I'm in no rush to call him pop to his face.

"Are you...are you sure we did the right thing?" Spinelli asked, her voice low. I took a deep breath. I needed her on my side in this or I couldn't do it.

"Do you love me?" I whispered, staring intently at her. She met my eyes and I knew, the way my heart fluttered under that gaze that I could do anything for her.

"You know I do," she sighed, "I just...I don't want my parents to hate you. Some of the things they said...why can't they just be happy for us?"

"Because they don't understand," I told her. I lifted our hands, intertwined so that she could see, the small ring on her finger was sparkling in the moonlight, "This is how it's supposed to be. This is the only way. I'm not going to some university for four years without you. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I can't settle for only seeing you on holidays and weekends. I want you all the time." She smiled a crooked smile, and I really can't describe the elated joy that pounded in my chest.

"This has to be one of the worst plans you've ever come up with," she said ironically, chuckling softly.

"I know," I admitted, "But it's easily my favorite." I caught her lips in a soft kiss, that deepened into one of more passion and we only broke apart when her phone went off. She pulled it from her jacket, glancing the screen over, before answering and putting it to her ear.

"Gretchen?" she greeted, confusion crossing her face, "Where are you? What? Yeah, we're together? The school? All right, I guess. Wait a minute." She covered the mouthpiece of her small cell and looked to me, "She wants us to meet her and the gang at Third Street right now. That okay?" I looked down to the house.

"I want your son to stay the hell away from my daughter!" Bob was shouting. I looked back to her and kissed her again.

"Unless you had your heart set on sticking around here for the show," I said cheekily. She grinned, telling Gretchen we'd be five minutes, and stuffing her cell back into her jacket.

We slipped down from the tree house and left the backyard, running hand in hand to the small Elementary school we'd attended not six years before. We could see their silhouettes before we made it to the chain-linked fence of the playground. Mikey and Gus were climbing over the jungle gym, and we could hear their laughter echoing through the empty street. Gretchen was sitting atop the cheese box bundled in layers of clothes, and Vince was leaning next to it, a beer bottle evident in his hand. Spinelli and me climbed the fence with ease, me lifting the barbed wire for her to maneuver under, then making my way carefully over it. We dropped to the ground, which alerted our friends to our arrival with the plop of our sneakers hitting the pavement.

"Well if it isn't the happily married couple," Vince greeted, rushing over followed by the others. They surrounded us in moments.

"I want all the details, Spinelli," Gretchen threw her arms around my wife, leading her away for their girl talk. She lifted her eyebrows suggestively, "_All_ the details." The men promptly surrounded me, ready with pats on the back and jubilant bouts of congratulations.

"Did you write your own vows?" Mikey exclaimed. I shook my head.

"No, we're not that creative," I shrugged. Vince laughed, having been the only one present at the wedding, as the witness. I knew that the rest of the gang was disappointed, but none of them could get away that weekend. They'd all been informed, and Vince had taped the whole thing for their viewing pleasure.

"Oh man," Gus wailed, "I can't believe you guys are actually husband and wife," he burst into tears, "It's just so beautiful." I laughed, as did Vince, while Mikey consoled Gus. There was something pleasant about being around them, about having someone not frown on what Spinelli and I did, that brought back all the wonderful feelings from earlier that day. Gretchen and Spinelli returned shortly and the gang sat smiling at us.

"Alright, guys," I began, catching on to their slyness, "Why are we here?"

"Well," Gretchen smiled, pulling from her back pocket blindfolds, "Do you trust us?"

"To keep a secret, yes," Spinelli chuckled, "To lead me blindfolded, no. Especially not Gus!"

"Hey!" Gus cried, offended.

"Come on, guys," Vince prodded, "You have to." I rolled my eyes, kissing Spinelli on the cheek.

"Humor them," I whispered and with a resonated sigh, she nodded as they slipped the blindfolds over our eyes and took our hands in their own.

We were put into a car, Mikey's from the size and smell, and it seemed a while that we drove until the car came to a stop and we were lead away from it. We entered a building, stepped onto an elevator, heard the ding as we reached our floor and were carefully guided off, and then lead down a hall. I was beginning to think that the trip had no end, and I wouldn't put it past my good friends to pull a prank on my new wife and me.

"Oh god," I heard Spinelli muttering peevishly, and I squeezed her hand, which I held in my own. Then they came to an unpredicted stop, our guides that is.

"All right," Gretchen announced, "You may remove your blindfolds." And we did just that, and were surprised to find ourselves facing a door with a golden number drilled into it, 4.

"Are we...are we at the Regal Hotel?" Spinelli asked, glancing around the fancily decorated hallway, which was impeccably spick and span.

"This would be the honeymoon suite," Vince explained, pulling a keycard from his back pocket and swiping it along the door's computerized lock. The light turned green and he swung the door open to reveal the lavish interior. I think I would have been sick from the frilly pink décor and heart shaped bed, if it weren't for the thought that was put behind this room.

"We didn't want you guys to be staying at some sleaze ball motel," Gus clarified, "So we saved up our money, and put everything we had into this."

"I worked double shifts at my job," Vince puffed out his chest, the proud assistant manager at a small burger joint on Main St. and Fifth.

"And you have no idea how many lawns I mowed," Gus shook his head and I noticed for the first time that night the sunburn he was sporting. A small gasp escaped Spinelli's throat and I looked to her with concern, noticing the tears brimming her eyes.

"Are you alright, Spinelli?" I asked. She nodded, as the gang gathered around, Gretchen rubbing her back, Vince squeezing her shoulder, Gus's brow furrowed together in worry, and Mikey rubbing the hand I wasn't holding.

"It's just," she whispered, fighting her sobs, "I wish...you guys are the best. I mean...I was beginning to regret going through with it...thinking nobody but me and Teej wanted us to be together and..." She lost the fight, burying herself in my chest, arms wrapping tightly around my waist, "I wish our parents could take it like this."

"Parentals didn't handle the news so well, huh?" Vince surmised. I nodded to him, stroking Spinelli's back gently.

"They probably haven't even realized we left yet, still yelling at one another," I told them.

"Well," Gretchen said grinning, having disappeared into the hallway and returned with a trolley up a cake, "We're here to take your mind off of that nonsense." Spinelli peeked out at the cake, only two layers high and dripping with sugary white frosting. A bride and groom topped it.

"What is this?" she asked childishly.

"You see," Mikey stepped in, probably feeling it was his turn to explain something, "We thought since we missed the ceremony, we would have our own party here."

"Now, if I recall correctly from anthropology, the proper tradition of the cake is that the newlyweds cut the first piece and feed it to one another," Gretchen stepped in pushing the trolley into the room and kicking the door shut behind her. She produced a knife and handed it over, "Sorry, we couldn't find a little bride wearing biker boots or a groom wearing a red baseball cap, but that's not to say we didn't try."

"Thanks guys," I mumbled, aware that my cheeks were flushed and my eyes studying my sneakers, "This is...I don't what to say."

"Dare I say it," Vince gasped mockingly, "Our great leader is at a loss for words?" I grinned broadly.

"We're your friends," Gus spoke up, shrugging, "It's what we do." And I suppose no one could have said it better.

With our hands covering the black handle of the knife, Spinelli and I cut into the cake, plopping it on a paper plate. She took a piece and placed it in my mouth, licking the frosting from her fingers, and I did the same for her. Our friends broke into laughter at the ludicrousness of the whole situation, but I don't imagine anything could have made things go from wonderful to horrible back to cloud nine like that small gift imparted on us by our good friends. In a way, it was the entire gang's wedding, Spinelli and I were just the one's who got lucky at the end of the night. And they did, eventually, leave us to be together in marital bliss, as it were.

-0-0-0-0---------------Present Time----------------0-0-0-0-

I hadn't even realized the doorbell rang when Gretchen and Vince entered my kitchen. We stared at one another a long time, tears streaming down Gretchen's face and Vince looking as though he were ready to cry as well, and that he maybe had cried a little before coming.

"Tell us it isn't true," Gretchen whispered, "That the name on the television...on the news...that it wasn't Spinelli's...please."

"Sorry," I murmured, "But I cannot tell a lie." Gretchen's arms were thrust about me but I made no move to accept or return the embrace. Vince left the room, trying to settle the emotions I could see stirring within him. I wanted to break then, to cry, and I did. Because it was real now, with Gretchen sobbing against my shoulder and Vince in the other room bawling, it was all so real. I was only slightly aware that my phone was ringing, only slightly aware that Gus and Mikey were arriving, and bursting into tears upon seeing all of us in the manner we were, confirming their worst fears, only slightly aware that time was still moving, only slightly aware that I was still, partially, alive. The only thing that was really clear, that I was really completely aware of, was that Spinelli, my wife, my love, my life, was gone. And that, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how hard I cried or pleaded or begged, she wasn't coming back. And to be honest, that was all I needed to be aware of at that moment.

Hell, someone else could be in charge; someone else could be the leader, the strong one, the backbone of the group. Me? I just wanted to curl up and go back to sleep and never, ever, wake up again.

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END A/N: Just so you are all aware, this is not a one-shot. There will be more chapters (just in case you're not clear on that). Updates may take a bit of time, as I'm working in conjunction with WSL. I know what you're wondering, _how can we get a happy ending from this?_ Well, no one said it would be a happy ending, and no one said it wouldn't.

Oh, and pertaining to the title, Killing the Daisies. Why did I chose that title, you wonder. Well, ever hear the expression "pushing up daisies", yeah...that's where it comes from.

Thanks for reading people, and please _**REVIEW**_.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

I'll see ya' around.


	2. Eulogy of Weeds

A/N: Alright...not a lot of time to chat....

Thanks to those who reviewed: TNPD, RavenForever, DarkAngelGuadianLight, Stacey, and Angels624. Now, who wrote "...", and what is that supposed to mean. Whoever that was, could you please write more next time, because I can interpret a great deal from just "...". THANKS.

Don't cry too hard and please...ENJOY!

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Chapter 2: Eulogy of Weeds

The funeral was nearly a week after the accident. Flo and Bob Spinelli took over the arrangements and for once in my life I was happy they excluded me from something having to do with their daughter, my beloved. It was all a masquerade of grief, really, everything felt like a ridiculous and pathetic circus.

Flo paraded around in a black dress and veil, a handkerchief was constantly dabbing her cheeks, and she spent a great deal of time at the Church she and her husband attended. She spent the time talking with the preacher. It was where they'd chosen to bury her, my wife. The last place in the world she ever wanted to be buried. _Whatever happens, don't ever let them lay me to rest there._

Bob was the one that made most of the arrangements, which still amazes me he was capable of doing while all I could manage was to stare blankly into empty space. He called all the family and informed them of the morbid news. He picked out a coffin for the funeral guests to look at and pretend a body occupied. He chose the day, set up the hall, picked out the flowers, and the pictures of her that would adorn the church. It was all very sickening to me.

They hadn't spoken to their daughter in two years. It was a lie, as far as I was concerned. Like I said, it was all a masquerade of grief. Before, the only times they would speak to her were to criticize the choices she made. They would tell her how disappointed they were, what a screw-up she'd turned out to be, what a deadbeat she'd married, how her life had turned into one mistake after another. She often left those "conversations" hating herself. To her credit, she never cried, though I don't know if that was for the better or not. She would lock herself away from the outside; from me and spend hours on end screaming and berating herself for every little flaw she had, for every little thing that was wrong in her life. She'd cut into herself with a razor edge, pretend it was her parents and watch the blood puddle in the sink. I couldn't stand it. When she had finally broke, pounding her fists against the shower tile, sobbing alone, as the water rushed over her and she howled for a better life, I finally broke. I went to her parents' house and had a "conversation" of my own with them. There was shouting, swearing, and accusations. They said I took their baby from them. I said they were ruining her life. I told them what she was doing to herself, what they were causing her to do to herself, and Bob swung at me, leaving my cheek bruised. I told them that since they couldn't recognize the pain they were causing her, I wasn't going to allow them near her anymore.

They didn't believe me at first, but I did whatever it took to shut them out of her life completely, though it wasn't that hard, as they already weren't a huge part of her life, just large enough to do damage. I had our phone number changed, and since they never came to visit our home, I simply had her stop going to theirs. It wasn't hard to convince her. She wanted to stop hurting herself as much I wanted her to, and that's exactly what she did. Of course, her parents used the situation against me, telling anyone who would listen that I was abusive towards her.

It was probably why everyone from the Spinelli family would shoot me dirty looks whenever they saw me. I overheard an aunt that I didn't recognize whispering to a small, huddled group of old women, "that's the controlling husband. At least now, little Ashley is free of his hold." I know I should have said something, but my wife was dead, what did my dignity matter?

So we sat there, staring at that mahogany box envisioning a beautiful young woman's dead body laying in it, though we all knew it was empty, and listened to the preacher speak.

"Ashley Spinelli was..." her parents had made it clear that her maiden name be used in the eulogy, "A gift to the world. She was cherished by friends and family alike..." I stared blankly at that preacher, my face as emotionless as it had been for the past several days. The gang surrounded me crying; Gretchen, Vince, Mikey, and Gus. For a moment, I thought, I could make it. I could sit there and take the speech, and the crying, and...and I stood up, pushed my way to that long walkway, and headed towards the double doors, slowly and unhesitatingly.

"TJ?" Gretchen whispered after me through a half-sob. Some part of me was aware that every eye in that church hall was watching my retreating back, and that soft buzzing murmurs of confusion and general distaste were rising amongst the mourners as I left that small building behind. But I doubted I could have been anymore apathetic.

-0-0-0-0------------------Monday, the week after the wedding------------------0-0-0-0-

Spinelli shuffled through her school locker, mentally running through which books she would need. She was taken aback when she closed the swinging metal door to find the shimmering faces of the frizz-ball sisters; Maggy, Susie, and Sally, mere inches from her own.

"Is it true?" Maggy asked, or was it Susie? They both wore braces, and they looked so similar they could have been twins.

"Is _what_ true?" Spinelli snarled, clutching her books tightly to her chest.

"That you are now joined with Theodore J. Dettwieler..." they all swooned at the mention of TJ's name, what with being the official governing body of his fan club, "In holy matrimony?" Spinelli narrowed her eyes to steel-edged slits at the three mop-heads.

"Where did you hear that?" she demanded.

"We cannot, by any means, reveal our sources," Sally, the one with the nasally voice, and the president of the club, said. Spinelli tightened her hand into a fist.

"By _any_ means, eh?" she began, stepping forward threateningly.

"So, it's like, totally true then?" a girl piped from the other end of the hallway.

"Damn," Spinelli spat, "I know that voice." She turned to scowl at the four primly dressed girls glowering at her from across the hallway. "Ashley A., Ashley B., Ashley Q., Ashley T.," she greeted between gritted teeth, "Kindly spill as to what the hell you mean by that."

"Only that it's like all over school that the slut princess is dragging down the respectable and oh so drool-over-able, TJ Dettwieler to her level," Ashley Q. explained curtly.

"Like, what did you wear for the occasion, anyways?" Ashley B. asked snidely.

"Like, what _do_ you wear to a shotgun wedding?" Ashley A. smirked maliciously, "Frayed shorts and a plaid halter, no doubt."

"Like, ew!" the four Ashleys squealed as one.

"Now listen very carefully, because I'm only going to say this once," Spinelli hissed, annunciating slowly the next words, "It_ wasn't _a _shotgun _wedding"

"But you don't deny there was a wedding," Sally spoke up, and Spinelli faltered.

"Um..."

"That's means you've..." Maggy or Susie, or whoever the hell it was, cried out miserably, "With _TJ_!"

"He can't be taken," the girls cried, "He just can't!"

Spinelli readied a physical assault on the annoying girls, when she felt a form sidle up behind her and an arm snake about her waist. She saw the frizz-balls pale, their mouths dropping slightly.

"Ladies," TJ greeted, resting his chin atop Spinelli's shoulder and grinning broadly at the three curly topped girls, swaying and blushing. He brushed his lips against Spinelli's neck.

"We need to talk," he whispered in her ear.

"Then talk," she replied, fighting the urge to giggle. She refused to _giggle_ at school, despite how giddy TJ made her feel at times.

"In private."

"Oh," she murmured. TJ took her books, and then her hand, weaving casually through the labyrinth of people, gently leading Spinelli to a small crevice between lockers. Spinelli leaned against the cool blue metal of the wall of lockers, looking up at her obviously distracted lover.

"My parents called their lawyer last night," he told her and she frowned, eyes downcast until he rested his hands on her hips and smiled reassuringly, "In order to get the marriage annulled, they either have to be able to prove that we were not maturely capable of the decision and didn't fully comprehend the responsibility it entailed; which they can't, or they have to have our cooperation, which they don't. So, there's nothing they can do, Spin." His brow furrowed as she smiled somewhat half-heartedly. "What's wrong?"

"My parents kicked me out."

"They can't do that."

"I'm eighteen, Teej, yes they can." Spinelli shook her head, "They said if I was old enough to get married, I was old enough to leave the house." TJ stepped back, looking away into the hallway, watching the people pass by.

"My parents won't allow you over."

"I'm staying with Gretchen, at least for a couple of days, until my parents cool down," she sighed heavily, "Then I'll go back. They won't leave me out in the street. After they've had time to think things through..." Her voice broke, "Why are they doing this? So we got married a little earlier then scheduled..."

"We'll move out. I'll start working full-time and..."

"No, Teej, it's not part of the plan," Spinelli sunk against him, wrapping her arms tightly about him and closing her eyes tightly.

"I was busy last night too," TJ whispered gently, "Looking into colleges. I picked out a few, called them to get information; they're sending me the applications. I'm going to tell my parents, when we graduate, about the scholarship."

"So they can tell you which school to go to," Spinelli snorted, "They're not going to listen. They'll want you to go to the best school out there, an Ivy League. One that won't have dorms for married couples. I _know_ how you are with your parents."

"They don't have that much persuasion over me," TJ grinned, "I married you didn't I?"

"Speaking of which," Spinelli pulled away, leaning back into the lockers, "I thought we were going to keep this thing a secret."

"We are."

"Then why does everyone at school know about it?"

"Oh man," TJ groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I hate living in this town. It's probably on the front page of every local newspaper. Is that why everyone was looking at me strangely when I walked in?"

"No stranger than usual, I'm sure," Spinelli shook her head, startled when the bell rang for first period, "We better go," she said, pulling her books from TJ's hands, "I'll see you at lunch." TJ frowned, but kissed her as she turned to leave.

TJ made his way into his first period class, scowling at the rowdiness of his peers, Irwin Lawson at the center of the ruckus. He turned into the aisles, making his way to the desk when the teacher, Mr. Folly cleared his throat.

"Mr. Dettwieler," he said and TJ turned. The older man was waving a thin slip of paper in his hand.

"_Already_?"

"Counselors office," Mr. Folly told him, glowering over the top of his glasses at TJ, who made his way back to the desk and took the slip. "And congratulations on the wedding." TJ shook his head, groaning inwardly.

"Yeah," Lawson called out, and a delicate hush fell over the room; a fragile bubble of silence ready to burst into laughter at the next idiotic words to escape the ringleader's lips, "Tell us, Dirt-wieler, how far along is she?"

"I don't know what you mean," TJ muttered, begging himself to ignore the jabs.

"Spinelli, how far along is she? When do we expect the bouncing baby?" The class fell into an uproar of snickering and chuckles. TJ glanced to the teacher for help, but after years of teaching, Mr. Folly had learned that students would pay attention to whatever they wanted, and no amount of yelling or threatening would change that. So, of course, the old man was busy writing the day's lesson on the board.

"Shut up, Lawson," TJ hissed, "I'd tell you not to talk about things you don't know about, but then you'd never be able to say anything."

"Are you sure it's yours though?" Lawson went on, ignoring the danger in TJ's voice, "I, myself, can't say I've taken my turn on the girl but I know a whole score of guys that have. Hey, Dirt-wieler, you planning on sharing? Because you can't really expect to take the town bicycle and lock it up in a garage, can you?" There was no warning when TJ lunged on the boy startled out of mid-guffaw. Fists flew until the teacher and a few students were able to break them up, TJ panting and Lawson huddled on the floor.

TJ wasn't sure what had come over him. He usually had a high-tolerance for taunting. He had been proud of his clean record, the only boy in the school never to have gotten in a schoolyard brawl. Needless to say, this would mar that proud achievement. He hadn't even realized he'd attacked until he was being pried off of the older boy.

They'd both gotten in pretty good swings, and walked painfully from the classroom at the command of the very disgruntled Mr. Folly. Though it was his own fault that he didn't intervene before the brawl broke out. Lawson was on his way to the dean's office, while TJ made his grimacing way toward the counselor.

Mr. Gritty, the counselor at Washington High School, was a thick bald man. He had a total of five strands of hair, which he treasured like gold. Every morning he would gel these five strands and slick them over the top of his baldhead, so they were plastered just around the large mole that adorned his shiny hairless top, which at least one of those five strands of hair could be accredited to. He sweat, profusely, and always wore an expression as though he'd eaten something sour. TJ hadn't been to his office often, though Spinelli had weekly meetings with the butterball of a man, that she more often than not ditched. Something about anger management. He had been the gruff man that informed TJ about the scholarship, and the many options of higher education that the intelligent goof-off boy could look into and pursue.

It was in the waiting room that TJ sat, a pack of ice pressed firmly to his cheek, a gift from the school nurse. He watched the school secretary busy herself with answering phones and clacking the keyboard of her computer. The door swung open and a freshman girl made her way out, tears spilling in long flowing streams down her acne-covered cheeks. TJ watched in awe as the little girl ran from the office and down the hall. Mr. Gritty took a stance in the doorway and pointed at TJ, who gulped, standing and making his way into the office with trudging steps. Mr. Gritty shut the door behind them and hobbled to his desk, where he took a seat in his gargantuan plush swivel chair. He pointed to the plastic student chair across from him and TJ felt like declining the seat, but didn't and plopped down.

"I've been hearing rumors," Mr. Gritty started.

"Good or bad?"

"Very bad, if they're true," Mr. Gritty cleared his throat, and leaned forward on his desk, his hairy, sweating arms sticking to the many papers scattered across the tabletop, "I heard that you and a young female student, Ashley Spinelli, were married."

"Um...why's that bad?"

"You have a future, Theodore," TJ winced, he hated being called by his first name, especially by an adult, it made him feel as though he were in trouble, "I understand that you feel you have a responsibility to this young woman, and I respect that, but I would have felt better if you'd come to talk with me first." The man shook his head, cleared his throat, and sat back in the chair again, "You know you can talk to me about anything. My door is always open."

"It's closed right now, sir, and it was closed for about twenty minutes before."

"Figuratively speaking," Mr. Gritty snarled, "There are more options out there than marriage and throwing away your future."

"Sir, I think you need to tell me what you're talking about before we go any further, because, with all do respect, I don't think we're on the same page."

"The pregnancy, Theodore," Mr. Gritty growled, TJ froze, lowering his head and looking up in disbelief at the large counselor through his eyelashes, "There are several options. You could have looked into adoption, abortion...this young woman will need to be sent to another school, one with facilities for pregnant teens, where she can learn to be a mother. Now, there is one school in the town here like that, it's small and will help her get the medical and financial..."

"Have you spoken to Spinelli about this?" TJ questioned, halfway out of his seat.

"Um...she's due for our weekly meeting in a few class periods," Mr. Gritty shrugged, "Why?"

"Because you shouldn't talk to her about this, and I don't think you should mention a pregnancy, either," TJ warned, making his way to the door, he stopped, the door halfway open and turned to look at the pudgy, confused man, "Because Spinelli isn't pregnant." He left, slamming the door shut behind him.

-0-0-

Spinelli tapped her foot, tightening her hold on her lunch tray and watching the kid in front of her chose what he wanted.

"I don't know if I can take this anymore," she said to Gretchen, who stood beside her.

"What do you mean?"

"The looks people keep giving me, the stupid insults they're whispering under their breath..." Spinelli shook her head, "Half the girls at this school hated me because I was dating TJ, and now they all do because I..." she dropped her voice to a low whisper, "Married him."

"Oh, come on, not everyone hates you," Gretchen tried to reassure her, she smiled, "I mean, Debbie the lesbian probably doesn't."

"Yeah, she probably hates _TJ_," Spinelli muttered, and the two broke into laughter. Spinelli was the first to falter, taking a deep breath, "They all think I got pregnant, or something. They're calling me a slut, and saying that I...that I'm ruining his life. They're saying he'd never marry me for any other reason..."

"Spinelli," Gretchen soothed, "You and TJ know the truth, and we know the truth. Remember, your friends? Who cares what everyone else says? Not the Spinelli I know and love."

"Well, why'm I taking the rap for all this anyhow? It's _all my fault_ that good, sweet TJ _had_ to marry me and..." she shook her head, "You're right. Why should I care what they say? Why should I care that my English teacher won't call on me anymore, even though none of those other puttses know the answer? So what if I got people dropping nasty letters and trash in my locker? What does it matter if the girls in my P.E. class are planning on jumping me in the locker room later today? Why? Why should I care?

"You know, I was so happy that day. I got to wear this pretty cotton dress, and Vince put flowers in my hair, and I got my hair all curled, and I wasn't gonna wear the make-up, there was no way in hell...but...I felt so pretty, and I felt like a lady. Then I get back here," she spat, "And everyone's treating me like a tramp."

"Spin..." Gretchen wrapped her arms about her friend, "They're just jealous." Spinelli jerked back from the embrace.

"If one more of you guys tells me they're just jealous..."

"Because it's true," Gretchen hushed her, pushing the baby hairs from her face, "TJ loves you so much that he doesn't even realize anyone else exists, and they hate you for that. Because none of them can get a guy that great. Not to mention you hang out with some of the more popular guys at school. Vince, MVP of the year in every sport. And the shy cuties, Gus, the pumped army brat, and...um...Mikey, the only guy in the school that can make grunge work. I mean, sure you knew them all back when no one would have ever given them a second look, but still...that's why all those rumors spread about you, because people were jealous."

"Why didn't any spread about you?" Spinelli raised an eyebrow at the tall lanky girl, "And don't tell me it's because you're a nerd..."

"No, it's because I'm not dating the infamous TJ Dettwieler, while not the most popular boy at school, he ranks pretty damn high," Gretchen grabbed a salad, examining it, "I wonder if these are GE vegetables, and how are we supposed to know what kind of insecticides were used on them and what effects they'll have on us?" She dropped the salad back down and grabbed a bag of chips, "

"You've been talking with Mikey too much. He's sucking you into his organically grown world," Spinelli shook her head, grabbing the salad and receiving an odd look from Gretchen, "I'm thinking of dieting."

"What for?"

"So I don't get fat and aid people in the misled thought that I'm pregnant," she explained.

"Spinelli," Gretchen mused, "I don't think you could get fat if you tried."

"Ha, ha, don't tempt me," Spinelli shook her head, "I'm Italian, we're prone to over weighted-ness. Besides, I'm not that hungry." She eyed TJ making his way through the cafeteria towards them, and turned back to the tray. Most of the people he passed greeted him like normal.

"Hey," he said, jumping over the bar for the lunch line and finding a piece of Spinelli's exposed flesh to plant a kiss on. She frowned at him, noticing the bruise on his cheek. "What happened?" she demanded, tracing her fingers along the raw skin.

"It's nothing," TJ shrugged grinning reassuringly.

"No, seriously, who do I have to kill for messin' up my baby's face?" Spinelli pressed.

"No one, Spin, I'm fine."  
"Is that from Lawson?" Gretchen inquired inconspicuously from the counter, loading a slice of pizza on her tray.

"Lawson?"

"Look, it's no big deal, alright. He was saying something stupid and..."

"I'm gonna kill him," Spinelli made to move out of the line as TJ wrapped his arms around her, holding her back as she struggled, "Where is the idiot anyhow?"

"He got sent home," TJ explained and she fell limp.

"Lucky bastard."

"Hi, Gretchen," TJ nodded to the awkward young woman who was beginning to think she'd melded into the background.

"Oh ho, he notices me," she mocked.

"Sorry," he said, leaning forward to give her a small peck on the cheek, "Are you gonna buy me lunch?" She smiled wryly.

"Ha, that's a good one," she walked forward, slapping money on the lunch lady's counter top and waited for her food to be rung up.

After Spinelli paid for her salad, they made their ways to the table that their three other friends had already occupied. The bag-lunchers. There, the six friends were in their own world, secluded from everyone else. They could laugh about jokes that no one else understood, talk about things that no one else knew about. Everyone else in the cafeteria faded away, no one else mattered. Even as Vince's jock buddies would walk-by and shout their greetings, he'd give a short wave before laughing at a joke TJ was telling. Or when Mikey's drama club friends passed, he'd nod to them, before giving a reading of a poem he'd recently written about the school food, or a particular girl he had a crush on but couldn't work up the nerve to speak to. No one could touch them. In one another's company, they were safe.

They broke from the closeness of their group when the bell rang ending lunch, and continued to their classes. It was a period of time in which TJ wouldn't see Spinelli until the final bell rang, dismissing all the students for the day, and then after school, his mother picked him up to ensure that he came home that evening.

It was later that night when Spinelli sat in Gretchen's room in front of a vanity mirror. Gretchen stood over her, braiding her hair.

"Do I really look like a slut?" Spinelli asked, pressing a careful finger to the Band-Aid pasted over the scar just under her left eye.

"You look like a punching bag," Gretchen conceded, picking up the comb to work on a knot, "You could have always ditched gym."

"Nah," Spinelli shrugged, pouting slightly to examine her swollen lip, "I lose a letter grade if I miss another class. I held my own pretty damn well, if I do say so myself, it's just...some of those girls got real long nails. I don't look that bad. No black eye, no visible bruises..." She turned to face her friend, "You think TJ's mom hired them to attack me?"

"No," Gretchen chortled, "But I wouldn't put it past her." There came a tap on the window and the girls turned, Gretchen making it to the window first and tossing it up. "What are you doing here? I thought you were grounded." TJ grinned.

"Where are your parents?" he questioned.

"They went out to dinner."

"I snuck out. Can I come in?" Gretchen moved back, lifting the window high enough for TJ to crawl through. He frowned at Spinelli, standing to the side.

"What happened?" he demanded, eyeing the makeover the girls in the locker room decided to give her.

"Well, you see," Spinelli's eyes lit up, "There were ten guys, big strong guys, I mean, there was no way I could take them all on by myself! Anyways, they wanted my backpack, I don't know why, but I had homework stacked in there that I absolutely had to do, and..."

"The girls in gym class ganged up on here," Gretchen interjected.

"Gee, thanks, Gretch. Make me sound pathetic, _please_," Spinelli shook her head, accepting a gentle kiss from TJ, and trying to hide the wincing it caused.

"Why'd they do that?" he asked, running his fingers along her cheek.

"Well, let's see...they hate me...that's a good start..."

"You two are quite the pair," Gretchen shook her head, "Sporting awful injuries from schoolyard scrapping." She made a face as TJ placed a deeper kiss to Spinelli's face and coughed slightly.

"Gretch," TJ murmured, breaking away, "The guys are downstairs."

"Thank you," Gretchen exclaimed heading for the door, "Don't do anything in my room," she said, turning on them.

"We weren't thinking of it!" Spinelli snapped defensively. Gretchen narrowed her eyes pointedly at TJ.

"What?" he asked, "Why's the guy always taking the heat for that kind of thing? Contrary to whatever you may believe, my mind is not always on sex." Gretchen stared at them suspiciously, warningly, as she slipped from the room, "For about five seconds each day I think about something else," TJ added after the door shut. Spinelli shook her head at him, dragging him into another kiss.

"You okay?" he asked, as they finally took a breather, lying on Gretchen's bed.

"It's just hard is all," Spinelli shrugged, "I mean, this isn't how it's supposed to be. We aren't supposed to be sneaking around behind our parents' backs to get a few moments together. We're supposed to be together all the time. I'm not supposed to be staying at a friends house, sleeping on her couch, we're supposed to be sharing a bed..."

"We are sharing a bed," TJ noted, receiving a scowl.

"You know what I mean," she muttered.

"All we have to do is put up with this for another month and a half, at the very least. We can do that," TJ smiled, "It'll work."

"The things you get me to do, Teej..." Spinelli shook her head, "Why'd I have to fall in love with such a trouble-maker?"

-0-0-0-0------------------Present Time-------------------0-0-0-0-

I found a tree on a grassy knoll, overlooking the cemetery where the empty coffin "containing the spirit" of my wife would be buried. I could see clouds gathering in the distance, smell rain in the air. I sighed, laying the back of my head against the trunk of the tree.

"God?" I whispered, feeling slightly ridiculous for a brief moment, "Why her?" I could feel my voice croak, breaking under the pressure of my misery, "You could have taken anyone. Why _her?_ Why did you take _her_?" I closed my eyes, and shed the tears that were gathering in the corners of my eyes, "People keep telling me that you took her back because they needed more angels in heaven, or because it's all part of your plan, or because it was her time. That's a load of shit, sir, if you don't mind me saying. Wait, scratch that, I don't care if you mind me saying it," My voice was teetering dangerously on the edge of a shout, "She was _all_ I had...

"What possible reason could you have to take her away from me?" I screamed into the wind, "You can't tell me you needed her, because I need her more. You can't tell me that I have some bigger purpose that she's not a part of, because _she was my purpose!_ Loving her was my purpose in life and you took my purpose...

"People say you exist, and that you love all your 'children'. There was a point in time when I was starting to believe that. Is this a test? Are you testing me? I mean, because if you wanted my faith, you fucked up," my anger boiled over then, "Give her back," I screamed, "Give her back," my voice faltered, and fell into a heap beneath that tree, burying my face in my arms, "Or at the very least, take me with her."

I felt them surround me, a form fall beside me, and thin, yet strong arms wrap tightly about my shoulders. And together we cried. They were all silent, but I knew that they were all there. Vince, Mikey, Gus, and Gretchen, whose gentle arms rocked me. I finally composed myself enough to sit there, staring out at them standing around me. Vince leaned heavily against the tree, the big shot baseball star. He wore his team jacket over his suit, the pendant of a golden baseball that Spinelli had given him when he'd reached the major leagues securely in place over his right breast. He wore it to every game, and although he had sat on the bench the whole time, the game three days before was no exception. Mikey was incognito, expensive sunglasses adorning his face, and clad in a designer suit. He being one of the most well known faces to the public; having recently been rated one of the hottest actors in Hollywood for a recent poll in People Magazine. He still carried pictures of the entire gang in his wallet, and I knew that he'd moved Spinelli's up to the front. Gus stood straight and tall, his primly pressed general's uniform was decorated with several different medals, as well as a locket filled with Spinelli's face. He'd had the locket for so long, but never had a picture to put in it before. Gretchen, the doctor, was dressed practically in a loose fitting black dress; her red locks tied away from her face, her eyes rimmed red. She'd been Spinelli's best friend, and no matter how distant they had to travel from one another, Spinelli had made a habit of always calling her once a week, usually on Wednesday, but sooner if she couldn't find time on that day.

"Why did you leave?" Vince inquired quietly, his voice hoarse from so many days of mourning, "They're all talking about it back there. I know it's hard TJ, but you should have..."

"It's a lie, Vince," I interrupted, my words harsh and cold, shaky, just above a whisper, just below a scream, "It's all a lie. I couldn't sit there and stare at that box, that she isn't even in, and listen to that preacher, who never knew her, talk about how great she was, and how wonderful she was, and how perfect, and sweet, and loved. He didn't know her. He didn't know how sweet she _really_ was. He didn't know how beautiful she could be in the morning, he didn't know how she felt wrapped in a hug, he didn't know how amazing her smile was, and he didn't know what she sounded like when she laughed. So I'm not going to sit there and listen to him talk about her as though he did."

"TJ," Mikey started.

"What?" I muttered.

"We were thinking..." Gretchen started, but trailed off, unable to find the words.

"Maybe we could..." Vince attempted.

"Have a funeral procession of our own," Gus picked up, "I mean, just us. Her closest friends." I couldn't comprehend why I felt so choked up by it, that simple offering. I nodded, pulling myself up and helping Gretchen to her feet.

So we stood around in a small circle, lying on the ground in the middle of us pictures and remnants of her, while taking turns talking about how special she was and what she'd meant to us. We laughed at the happy memories, of her childhood habit of beating people up, cried over the sad times like when her dog died and we helped her bury it, sometimes we'd argue over the accuracy of a memory, which always ended with either Gretchen or Mikey setting the record straight, and I listened, feeling safe in that group. We fell silent when from the corner of our eyes we saw as the mourners left the church into the cemetery, carrying amongst them that mahogany box.

"She's here," Vince whispered to all of us, "Not in that box. She's with us, where she belongs." And for some reason, those words brought me to my knees, overwhelmed with grief. They tried to console me, but I didn't want to be consoled. I wanted to fall into my misery, let it engulf me. Because Vince was wrong in a way, she was nowhere really. She was just gone.

* * *

END A/N: I know, I know...sad...I hope the Spinellis and the Dettwielers redeem themselves before this story ends, because they're turning into real bastards.

Alright, I have to go to work, so, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

PLEASE _**REVIEW**_.

And thank you for reading....adieu.


	3. Tending A Garden Of Misery

A/N: I'm glad everyone is liking this story so much. Now, I know that some of you are waiting for the next chapter of WSL, but to be honest, I have to sort out the next chapter, and I've already got an outline of all the chapter for this story written down. I know, I should have done that with WSL, but I didn't, so oh well. That's why I think this story is better than WSL, but a lot of people might not agree.

Another thing that I forgot to mention. When I did the time line, I started it as if they'd been in fourth grade in the year 1992, so as to suit my needs. I know that a lot of people go by 1995, as that was the year the series came out, but I didn't want to, so...so...so there. OH. And the flashbacks aren't going in chronological order, just so you aren't reading it and thinking "But what happened after..." YUP.

Thanks to my reviewers (I apologize that I couldn't give a more personal thanks last chapter, but I had like five minutes to get to work so I'll make up for that here):

TNPD: I'm sorry you missed that game on TV, but thank you for your compliments and tears. As my aim was to make you cry, I think of it as having done my job sufficiently.

xXxSarahxXx: YAY! You read this story. Yeah, TJ has some great friends, and I hope you keep that in mind throughout this story, because we're going to travel in rough territory, and his friends may forget to be great later on.

DarkAngelGuadianLight: It's okay. JUST DON'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN! j/k. I accept that you have a life outside of my story....kind of...

RavenForever: Rootbeer, out the nose? Um....yeah, I liked how the parents reacted as well, but, TJ and Spinelli didn't exactly make the wisest choice in the world. I can think of thousands of ways to make a happy ending out of this, but then again, I _am_ crazy. Party on, Rave girl.

Stacey: THAT'S WHERE I STARTED CRYING TOO! Okay, yes, I admit it, I cried while writing this story. SO WHAT! I can be emotionally involved in my story as well. I'm so glad you like my story. I hope I don't dissapoint in the sadness department. And yeah, the way TJ is grieving is...I mean, to be expected. I believe it was stated that they loved each other their entire lives. THANKS.

Angels624 (who didn't review chapter 2, _yet _hint, hint): An angst gal, huh? Well buckle in and enjoy the trip...and I hope that this meets your angsty requisites.

It must have been cold there in my shadow...ENJOY.

* * *

Chapter 3: Tending a Garden of Misery

Gretchen strummed her fingers along the tabletop of her desk, staring impatiently at the door of her office. She sighed, pausing to examine her hand. She had been trying to grow her nails out long, but had an unfortunate and unbreakable habit of biting them. There was salmon colored nail polish painted along them, chipping and faded. She glanced at the clock, and sighed again. Eleven-fifteen at night, she'd been working eighteen hours straight, having had an onslaught of patients that day. She was constantly rushing from the ER to the OR to her office to the examining room, back to the ER, racing to the OR, nearly passing out on her way _back_ to the ER _again_, and then her five o'clock got there and she was late and the high profile patient, a wealthy debutant gave her quite an earful. _Do you think I have all the time in the world? I can't sit here waiting for an hour only to spend fifteen trying to tell you about every little ache and pain I've been having, so that you can rush me out of here to be on time for your next patient. When I set an appointment for five, you damn well better be here at five, unless you don't want my money, not withstanding the yearly five thousand dollar donation I give to this clinic._ And with a great deal of will power, Gretchen was able to hold her tongue.

The office door swung open and Gretchen startled.

"Are you still here, Dr. G?" Millicent, the sweet secretary that worked the front counter piped up, her strawberry blonde head bobbing slightly in surprise.

"Actually, I'm waiting for someone," Gretchen started to explain, but sighed once more, coming to the dreary conclusion that she was most likely being stood-up, "Has anyone called for me?"

"No," Millicent shook her head, she was a little on the hyperactive side, moving her hands, and contorting her face to emphasize her point, "But there is a man standing out here. He's kind of...I don't know how to describe it, but I think you should talk to him. He may be the one you're waiting for." Gretchen sighed, lifting herself from her chair and following Millicent into the waiting room.

The man was, indeed, indescribable. His hair was a mess, and his eyes, a shadowed blue, stared out at the empty waiting room obliquely. He was wearing jeans, which contradicted his nice long sleeve button-up shirt. He had on red tennis shoes, and was tapping one carefully, thoughtlessly. An old leather jacket rested over his shoulders, and he was leaning against the far wall of the waiting room, his arms crossed casually over his chest. Gretchen frowned, making her way over to him.

"TJ? What are you doing here?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips delicately. He seemed to break from a trance, glancing around the room, before resting his gaze on her. It had been three years since the accident, but he still looked as lost as he had on that first day.

"Well...I..." he shrugged, "You told me to get out of the house."

"I know what I told you," Gretchen sighed, "But what are you doing _here_?"

"I had no where else to go," TJ mumbled, "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have...I'll leave." He lifted himself from the wall, making towards the exit, and Gretchen shook her head, feeling the guilt weigh down on her. She placed a hand on his arm.

"Let's go get something to eat," she offered. He perked up slightly, pausing and nodding, "Right. Let me just go talk to Millicent and we'll go." He nodded again, waiting as she crossed the room to the front counter and leaned over it.

"Dr. G.," Millicent greeted.

"I'm going. My friend needs...well, someone. If a Derek calls for me, or comes in...though I doubt he will, tell him...tell him he's late," Gretchen said.

"Alright," the young woman smiled, "That guy's your friend. He's cute. Kind of like, a puppy dog." Gretchen glanced over her shoulder, giving TJ a once over.

"Yeah, I guess he is kind of cute," she agreed.

"He your date?" Gretchen had to fight the urge to break into laughter, allowing only a humorous smile to slide across her face. "What?" Millicent prodded, "He taken?"

"Well, no, I just. TJ and me? Not happening," Gretchen looked back over to TJ, "Why? Are you interested?"

"If I was, would you set me up with him?" Millicent asked, leaning forward to get a better look at TJ. Gretchen felt the smile fade from her lips, and a sinking lump gather in her stomach. It _had_ been three years. Maybe if TJ started dating again, it would help him recover. Right?

"Well..." Gretchen gulped.

"What? Is there something wrong with him?" Millicent pressed, "I mean...like, physically or mentally? I knew it, there's something wrong with him, that's why you won't date him, right? Is he gay?"

"No," Gretchen spoke up, a little louder and a bit more defensively then she'd intended, "I mean," she continued, dropping her voice to a lighter, softer tone, "There's nothing wrong with him. He's actually a great guy...I'll ask him for you. If you're really interested that is."

"You will? Great!" Millicent chirped, "I'll see you then. And Dr. G, don't even let that Derek guy bother you. He was a drag anyways."

"Um...thanks," Gretchen mumbled, turning, "Bye." She frowned at TJ, feeling oddly like she'd just betrayed her best friend.

-0-0-0-0--------December 23, 1995, Annual Grundler Christmas Party--------0-0-0-0-

Spinelli looked miserable standing beside the punchbowl in the middle of the crowd in her wool red and green gingham dress and white stockings. Brenda Lee's sweet voice was spilling through the room singing Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree from the Grundler's old cassette player, and there was a small area in the living room set aside for dancing, which several elderly married couples were obliging. She sighted Gretchen crossing the room in an equally ridiculous attire, a velvet red skirt, and a red sweater with a giant green decorated Christmas tree printed across the front. She was frowning.

"He's here," she muttered, when she was close enough to speak in secrecy.

"Who?" Spinelli demanded, glancing about the room in confusion.

"Billy Foster," Gretchen confided, "You know..._him._ Mr. I'm-so-smart-and-witty-and-charming-and-cute-and-you'll-never-have-a-chance-with-me-in-a-million-years, that's who."

"Oh," Spinelli chuckled, "He's got a long name."

"Spin..." Gretchen groaned.

"What? I'm sorry but I have more important things to worry about then Mr. Blah-blah-blah. I can't sit down in this dress, and I feel like I sat in a nest of ants! Not to mention these stockings are going up and there's no where for them to go," Spinelli spat in a rough whisper.

"Sorry," Gretchen sighed, "It's just...he's so dreamy and...oh _God_. What's with me? I know I was excited when my hormones finally kicked in, and I got my first crush on...what was his name?"

"Danny Huckler," Spinelli mumbled distractedly, scratching the back of her calf with her foot. She remembered the name because for two weeks it was all Gretchen seemed to know how to say.

"Yes, Danny. I thought it was quite amusing, a true-life experience of the psychological causes of 'liking', 'loving', and 'crushes'. But to be honest, I can't make my stomach stop twirling whenever I see Billy. I feel nauseous, and woozy, classic signs of several epidemics," Gretchen shook her head, "And I know for certain that this time is different. Dare I say it...? I believe I am in love."

"You said the same thing about Philip, Ronald, Gregory, Jason, Skeenz...still not getting over _that_ one," Spinelli rolled her eyes, "Just go over and talk to the dweeb. I mean you've got things in common, right? You're both kids with unnaturally large vocabularies, for one thing."

"Well...I...I can't leave you here alone!"

"I've been standing here alone for the past half hour while you sat vigilantly watching at the door for what's-his-name! And now, _now_ that he's here, you can't leave me by myself?" Spinelli cried, "Geez, Gretch, get lost, go talk to the guy! Besides, I think I see Vince and Teej, so I'll be fine."

"I...but..."

"JUST GET LOST!" Spinelli screamed, gaining unwarranted glances from nearly everyone in the room. Gretchen blushed furiously, making her way over to where Billy Foster stood awkwardly talking with a short boy with thick glasses, Menlo. He perked up slightly when he saw Gretchen, smiling towards her, and, flushed, she began chatting with him.

Spinelli sighed, taking a glass of punch and weaving through the crowd over to where TJ and Vince, dressed in nicely pressed slacks and dorky seasonal sweaters, sat with a deck of cards. They were trying to appear as though they were playing Go-Fish to the adults, but Spinelli knew better, quickly assessing that the game was poker, five-card stud, deuces wild, and the bet was a gumball minimum. There were a few other boys gathered around them, playing their hands against TJ, the king of bluff. She grinned, pushing her way through the small crowd and placing her free hand on her wool covered, and extremely itchy, hip.

"Deal me in," she commanded, pulling out a small bag of candy, and TJ looked up a bit startled, having been reeling in his recent wins.

"No girls," a boy with a death wish, sitting to the left of TJ hissed. In a moment, Spinelli had the boy dragged to his feet by the collar of his shirt, and was gritting her teeth, a fist raised slightly, her drink having been shoved off into a bystander's hands.

"It's alright," TJ told him, "It's Spinelli." He passed her the deck of cards as she released what was going to be another name on her victim's list, "Newcomer deals."

"Easy pickings," the boy muttered to his friends, slipping back down to the ground, a tad disgruntled, and eyeing Spinelli's candy stash eagerly. Nearly an hour later, Spinelli and TJ were the only one's left in the game, staring one another down. And the small group of onlookers had grown rather large, into a huddled crowd of awe-faced kids.

"You know you can't lie to me, Spinelli," TJ grinned, glancing confidently at his hand, then back up to meet his opponent's dark eyes, "I know you too well."

"And I know that I've been hording this candy for a long time, and I'll be awfully angry if I lose it," was the smirking reply.

"Is that a threat?"

"You know me well enough to know the answer to that." TJ gulped, looking as though he were seriously considering folding. Vince lowered himself to TJ's level, whispering something in his ear, and gaining a nod. "Let's end this then, because I just received news that there's a buffet of dinner being laid out and Gretchen's mom makes the best candied yams I've ever tasted."

"All or nothing?"

"Yup." They pushed they're respectably large heaps of candy into the middle, and laid their cards down.

"Two of a kind?" Spinelli raised an eyebrow at her opponent, as the crowd gave groans of disapproval, and dispersed, leaving to get plates full of turkey and mashed potato dinner. TJ looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. Spinelli frowned at him, "TJ, you're a better player than that. My threats get to you?"

"Hey, you win, fair and square," he snapped, then, tapping the table, lifted himself up and headed for the food, calling idly over his shoulder, "Better hurry, Spin, chances are the white meat ain't lasting." Spinelli frowned at the candy stacked high in front of her and saw Gretchen from the corner of her eye walking with Billy Foster to the kitchen; both smiling, and laughing, and chatting it up. Well, at least someone actually _won_ that night.

-0-0-

Somewhere around ten, ten-thirty, Gretchen watched with discontent as Vince examined the best way to open the gift she'd given him. It was wrapped in shining silver and green paper, precisely cut and evenly taped up, as were all the gifts she'd passed out. It was getting late in the night, and the whole group of party-goers had gathered around the giant Grundler Christmas tree, and were busy exchanging gifts. It was tradition. The Grundler family would open family given gifts on Christmas morning, but they used the party as a way of giving out the gifts bought for friends. But the gang, Gretchen, TJ, Spinelli, Vince, Mikey, and Gus had snuck off to the side away from the crowd of rambunctious gift-exchangers, for their own private exchanging.

Gretchen had always gone first, as it was their tradition to take turns passing out their gifts and watching one another open the presents. They went in alphabetical order, which, in their childish logic, made Gretchen first. She'd always been nervous, as she wasn't the richest of the group, and usually couldn't afford the gifts she wanted to give to her friends. They're parents always helped them purchase fancy toys for Christmas presents, but her parents wanted to instill a sense of responsibility in her, and that included, buying presents with her own finances.

Vince had been the first to get his present from Gretchen, as it was on the top of the pile. He worked his nails beneath the tape, pulling it back carefully, slowly, so as not to rip the paper.

"Just tear the damn thing open already!" Spinelli finally cried out in anxious exasperation, "I want my present!"

"This is a delicate procedure," Vince argued, "Need I remind you of the collectors' card incident." They all fell silent in reminiscent hush of the time when Vince, in his eagerness to open a birthday present from his parents, ripped part of the present right in half, a signed card from Vince's favorite baseball player. Gretchen threw her hands up in despair as Spinelli clacked her tongue in impatience nearly five minutes later while Vince still worked at his present.

"I know it's a break in tradition but..." Gretchen started.

"No," TJ commanded, "The next present can only be passed out after Vince has finished opening his. If you pass out another present, we won't be able to share in the excitement when Vince discovers what he's gotten."

"Yes," Mikey conceded, "Traditions are what separate us from the animals."

"I thought that was the unwritten code of the kids," Gus whimpered.

"That too," Mikey nodded solemnly.

"Though..." TJ mumbled, glowering as Vince lifted one of the tabs to finally reveal the writing on the packaging.

"Oh, awesome, Gretch," Vince whooped, "_Kicking, Pitching, Running, and Throwing the Professional Way_...I've heard great things about this book. Thanks." Gretchen blushed slightly.

"You didn't get us all books again this year, didja, Gretch?" Spinelli groaned, receiving a scolding glare from TJ. "I'm not complaining!" They moved along, Gus eagerly opening his gift, the new G.I. action tank.

"Where'd you get this?" he exclaimed, "It was sold out _everywhere_!"

"I have connections," Gretchen shrugged humbly.

"A new set of composition journals!" Mikey cried out with glee, thrusting his arms around the small form of Gretchen, "I needed some. I'll cherish these always." Gus went next, passing out his presents, then Spinelli, TJ, and Vince. The music started up again, and Billy Foster appeared, kneeling and offering Gretchen a dance, which she eagerly accepted. Vince too found a dance partner, and Mikey slipped off in search of a girl, one Vicky Mendelssohn, that he had been crushing on for some time. Gus sighed, leaning against the wall and looking at his new possessions with settled content.

"It truly is a holly jolly Christmas," Gus sighed.

"Yup," Spinelli had to agree, "Turkey, candy, and hordes of gifts. Now that's what Christmas is all about."

"What about all that stuff about good will towards men, and...I don't know...junk like that?" TJ asked, looking out at the dance floor with disinterest.

"Hun..." Spinelli shrugged.

"Soldier," Mr. Griswold called from across the room, "Front and center." Gus smiled, scampering to his feet.

"My dad wants me to pack my gifts away in the car," he explained before gathering his things in his arms and running towards his father eagerly. Spinelli sighed, eyeing TJ as he lifted himself up, shuffling his belongings together as well and heading for the front door.

"Hey, Teej," she called after him, making her way over to where he stood, paused in the doorway.

"What's up?" he asked, shifting his things in his arms.

"Um...I was thinking...about that candy...I can't eat it all by myself," she shrugged, "I was gonna give part of it to the rest of the gang anyways...so...um..."

"No, that's alright, you won it fair and square," TJ mumbled, setting his things down on the nearby in-table, "Besides, mom wants me to cut back on my sweets anyhow."

"Aww...look who's under the mistletoe everyone," came an exuberant squeal that could only be attributed to Mrs. Dettwieler. In unison, TJ and Spinelli rolled their eyes upward to stare at that foreboding plant dangling above their heads, and then turned to look miserably at the crowd of people staring anxiously at them.

"Oh man..." TJ muttered.

"You know what that means," Flo Spinelli cried from where she stood, a martini glass balanced in her hand, "Pucker up, Pookie."

"Oh man..." Spinelli muttered.

"What should we do?" TJ asked.

"Screw tradition?" Spinelli shrugged.

"No, you heard what Mikey said about tradition. It looks like there's no way out of this," TJ said, rubbing the back of his head, his cheeks an interesting shade of red.

"No way out, huh?" Spinelli inquired rhetorically before her fist connected with TJ's stomach. A gasp resounded through the room.

"Oh, TJ," Mrs. Dettwieler clucked, rushing forward to her son, who had bent somewhat, his arms clutching the injured area. Spinelli promptly turned on her heel, lightly snorting 'humph' as she marched away and TJ couldn't help but smile slightly through the anguishing pain as he watched from the corner of his eye her retreating form, while the crowd broke into awkward laughter.

"She's a real spitfire, that one," Grandpa Grundler noted, laughing hysterically, and chewing on the end of his unlit cigar, "You'll have your hands full, boy." TJ grimaced, managing to give the old man a slight grin.

-0-0-

Gretchen paced her room, where Spinelli had taken refuge on the bed. The latter having dug through her good friend's closet, finding something more practical to wear, and changing, was busy thumbing through a magazine while Gretchen shook her head, wearing a hole in the soft white carpet that lined the room.

"_Billy Foster_, Spinelli," she exclaimed, "Tonight has been so surreal. I was talking and chatting and dancing with _Billy Foster_, and _you_ punched _TJ_ in the gut!"

"Thrilling," Spinelli muttered sarcastically, attempting to match her skin tone with that of the models in the magazine in an effort to decide which colors suited her best. "Do you think I look good in green?"

"Spin," Gretchen started, then sighing, fell to the bed, "You can pull of most any color except maybe pink and white. Now, back to _you_ punching _TJ_." Spinelli looked up, met her friend's eyes.

"Okay, I punched TJ," she told her.

"And?"

"End of story." Gretchen moaned exasperated.

"But why?" she cried, "_Why _did you punch TJ?" Spinelli looked thoughtful a moment, before shrugging.

"It was all I could think of to do. I'm like a black widow, I strike when cornered!"

"You could have kissed him you know, it's no big deal," Gretchen said, tossing the magazine to the floor, "It's not like you haven't kissed him before in front of an audience."

"Sheesh, Gretch, that time didn't include the parents. You know, the ones out to embarrass their kids to the fullest of their ability?" Spinelli shook her head, "I mean, come on...who's the most platonic friend you have...Vince! If it were you and Vince under that mistletoe with all those people staring at you like that, what would you have done?" Gretchen was silent a moment.

"Died of embarrassment," she finally admitted, then her eyes lighting up, "But if it were Billy Foster..." Spinelli rolled her eyes, her head falling to the pillow at the end of the bed.

"You still wouldn't do it," she argued.

"Oh, but I wouldn't need to do anything! Can you imagine...his lips pressed against mine in an intimate exchanging of bodily fluids."

"Oh jeez, Gretch," Spinelli groaned, "I think I'm gonna throw up. If that's what you call a romantic way of describing a kiss then...ugh!" They looked at one another before breaking into fits of giggles, and Gretchen fell beside her friend.

"What if Billy asks me to go...I don't know...steady I believe the term is," Gretchen inquired, staring up at her ceiling.

"Don't get your hopes up."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just...he seems real flaky is all," Spinelli turned on her side, her back to Gretchen, her voice was a careful whisper, "Joe Lyndon asked me to go steady."

"Did he?" Gretchen mumbled, hardly able to keep the jealousy from her voice. Joe Lyndon was a 'skater' by clique definition. He was attractive, an eighth grader, and had the most irresistible pout, so of course, Gretchen was envious, "What did you say?"

"I told him sure, why not."

"So you guys are an item now," Gretchen said, a little more tersely then she'd meant to be.

"For as long as we decide to be, yeah."

"That's cool."

"Hun..." They lay in silence that way, looking in their opposite directions, uncertain what to say to the other. It was a unique tense moment, one they'd never encountered in their friendship before. "Gretchen."

"Yeah."

"You're my best friend."

"And you mine."

"I can beat Billy Foster up for you if he doesn't ask you to go steady."

"That's alright. I'm not holding my breath or anything." Gretchen pulled herself up into a sitting position, straining her ears. She sighed, "The music's dying down, the party's ending. You're parents are probably looking for you."

"Maybe they'll let me stay the night if I tell them how exhausting jabbing TJ was and that I can't move from this spot," Spinelli murmured. Gretchen chuckled, slapping her friend's thigh.

"Get up, get up," she prompted, on her own feet once more. Spinelli groaned, pulling herself up, and blinking at the room.

"Ah man," she muttered, gathering her discarded dress and stockings and trudging to the door.

"Tis' the season to be jolly..." Gretchen reminded her, slinking an arm over the shorter girl's shoulders.

"Tis' the season mom drinks _lots_ of eggnog."

-0-0-

TJ stood on the porch staring out at the many departing families. His parents had volunteered to help clean up, they always did. It was a time where him and Gretchen were shoved out the door to play in the snow whilst their parents chatted. He heard the door open, and glanced over his shoulder, spying Gretchen and Spinelli on their ways out, laughing heartily, arms slung about each other. He turned back to the snow covered scenery before him.

Spinelli stopped and Gretchen gave her a questioning look when she raised a finger to her lips. With careful steps she silently moved forward to stand next to the unsuspecting TJ, close enough to hear his soft breathing, and looked out at the white wonderland before them.

"Teej..." she whispered, and he turned to look at her. In a swift movement, she brushed her lips against his, then tore down the porch leaving him stunned, his face an elegant shade of red, his eyes large ovals, trailing after her. "Merry Christmas," she called over her shoulder before running to catch up with her parents who stood waiting patiently down the street staring up at a particular house's winter decorations.

Gretchen smiled, stepping beside TJ.

"Merry Christmas, TJ," Gretchen whispered, "Did you get what you wanted?" He grinned, turning back towards the house.

"I guess I did," he mused, "Merry Christmas, Gretchen."

-0-0-0-0---------------------Present Time--------------------0-0-0-0-

Gretchen leaned back in the booth she shared with TJ, licking the cherry from her margarita, and glancing at her dismayed friend who sat picking at his fries, holding his beer like it were a life source, even if he hadn't drunken so much as a sip from it. For the past hour Gretchen had attempted conversing with him, but he seemed only capable of responding with a grunt or an incomprehensible mumble. So she settled into talking about the hospital, her day, and more specifically, Millicent.

"I don't know where I'd be without her there," Gretchen was saying, "None of the doctors would. When she's not there, everything just falls apart. It's a real mess. She's really sweet, too. For nine hours straight I worked, with no break, nothing, and she comes into my office with a cup of coffee and a snack for me that I didn't even ask for. Not to mention," Gretchen leaned forward, forcing a sly smile, "She's single."

"Do you know what today is?" TJ asked quietly, the first complete sentence he'd spoken that evening.

"Friday...no wait," Gretchen glanced at her watch, "Saturday. Why?" He straightened slightly, pushing away the basket of fries, and finally taking a drink of his beer.

"It was a Saturday when Spinelli first tried to make me pancakes. She knew I liked them, but she...she was never good at cooking," he smiled sadly at the bottle in his hand, "So I took over, and ever since then, every Saturday I would make pancakes for us." He sighed, slumping back in the booth. Gretchen took a long draught from her margarita, before eating her cherry and narrowing in on TJ.

"I was thinking," she continued, "Millicent is single, and you're single. Well...she's interested."

"I'm not single..." he started to protest, but frowned, the concept formulating in his mind, "Oh." Gretchen felt that familiar lump in her stomach give a small lurch.

"TJ...I think it would good, if you went out with her...Millicent that is," Gretchen said, turning her margarita glass distractedly, "I know you'll like her. She's very outgoing, does whatever she wants, a lot like..." the name caught in her throat.

"Like Spinelli," TJ suggested quietly.

"Yeah..." Gretchen studied her red slush of a drink, "TJ, it's been three years."

"I know how long it's been."

"Life keeps going. Time moves forward, and things aren't the same as they were. Going on a date with Millicent isn't going to hurt anything. She's not going to expect anything; it's not a serious commitment. You just, need to get back in the saddle, so to speak," Gretchen told him, focusing completely on her glass.

"Gretchen, I don't..."

"Will you do this, please?" Gretchen pleaded, lifting her eyes to meet his own. Those blue eyes that had been so soft and light and cheerful once now clouded over with pain and indistinguishable swirls of misery and sadness, "For me?" TJ sighed, looking to the table as though searching for an answer or something to say.

"Fine," he muttered, "Alright. I'll do it." And there was that feeling again, sinking in Gretchen, that she'd just betrayed her best friend.

* * *

END A/N: I loved the sweet innocence of that kiss Spinelli snuck from TJ, and then how she runs away...it just chokes me up...so cute...I'm kind of infatuated with this story, as I've never written anything like this before.

Yeah, three years passed since the death, because that's when the story really takes place; three years after the accident. But if you want to know what happened in those three years, don't worry, it'll be talked about later in the story.

Erm...please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and _**PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, REVIEW**_!

THANKS FOR READING, I'll see you on the flip side.


	4. Festering Mulch

A/N: Alright, this one got really long so I broke it into two pieces. It's still all one chapter though.

Somehow my browser refreshed, and I have to go to bed...

Thanks to the reviewers: TNPD, Stacey, xXxSarahxXx, RavenForever, and DarkAngelGuadianLight...you guys are so wonderful and I get all teary eyed just seeing your names on my review board...sniffles...

Onward ho...ENJOY.

* * *

Chapter 4: Festering Mulch 

Millicent was pretty to say the least. She had done up her hair in layers of curls, painted make-up on her lips and eyes, done her nails, and dressed in a casual skirt and blouse that suited her bony frame. TJ's first reaction was to run, to return home, tuck himself into bed with a picture of his deceased lover, and pretend that no one else in the world even existed. But he'd promised Gretchen that he would go through with it.

Millicent seemed shocked to find that TJ had walked to her home in that chill night, and even more shocked when she discovered that he lived nearly ten blocks away. He was dressed in jeans, a long sleeve shirt, the leather jacket and red tennis shoes she'd seen him wearing before, and his cheeks were a pinkish color.

"Don't you have a car?" she laughed, but followed his frown.

"No," he explained, "I don't drive."

"That's alright, we can take my car...I guess...I mean, I'm not used to..."

"No," he interrupted, "I don't ride in cars. I don't take buses either..." he sighed, looking away, "Buses, trains, cabs, planes...anything that can crash." For a moment, Millicent sat blinking stunned at him. Then she broke into laughter.

"You're joking, right? I mean, how do you get around?"

"Well," TJ grew uncomfortable, looking sheepishly about his surroundings, "I don't usually leave my house...actually, until recently, I had spent a couple years _not_ leaving my house. You'd be amazed what you can get brought to you over the Internet...groceries, clothes..."

"Um...I think we should drive," Millicent interjected, grabbing her purse and car keys on the in-table beside the door before making her way down the front steps of her apartment. She led TJ to her car, and he didn't seem to protest until she climbed in and noticed he hadn't. She rolled down the window and looked out at him staring blankly at the car door of the passenger side.

"I don't..." TJ furrowed his brow. He'd agreed to do this, even if that meant getting in a car. He sighed, hesitantly opened the door and sat inside of it.

"There now, that wasn't so hard. Alright, where are you taking me?"

"I thought we'd see a movie..." TJ began.

"Oh, great, what's playing?"

"But then I changed my mind. So, I thought we'd go for a walk..." TJ looked distractedly out the windshield, his voice a low mumble, "But you don't want to walk...so...I thought we'd...."

"Okay," Millicent interrupted, "But _where are we going_?"

"Um...to eat," TJ shrugged, "Unless you've eaten, then we could always..."

"I haven't eaten," Millicent snapped, "I'm hungry. Where do you want to eat? _And_, I just want the restaurant name and maybe directions."

"There's a place I know of," TJ told her, "It's just down Maple Street, on the corner of Twelfth." Millicent, with a jerking nod of her head, pulled her car out onto the road and managed to make it to the small, fancy diner. She gaped at the restaurant whose parking lot TJ directed her to pull into.

"This is Chez Vince, do you know how long the waiting list is for this place is? How could you possibly get a reservation? This place has a five month waiting period," Millicent exclaimed.

"It'll be okay," TJ told her, before exiting the car. Shaking her head, Millicent followed, and was grateful when he at least held the restaurant's front entrance door open for her. They stood before the podium, waiting until a young man dressed in a fine suit came up to them, flipping open the reservation book.

"I'm sorry for the wait," he spoke, his eyes scanning the pages in front of him distractedly, "We had to fire the hostess this morning...it's been hectic all day...um...did you have a reservation?"

"No, I was just hoping that maybe if you had an empty table available..." TJ started.

"What?" Millicent hissed, "That was your plan to get in this place...they don't _have_ available tables, it's always full..." The young man waiting on them rolled his eyes up to glance at the couple.

"TJ?" he said, "TJ!" He straightened from out of the book quickly and ecstatically making his way around the table and patting the young man's shoulders for good measure. "It's been, what...how long? Three years since last I saw you."

"Yeah...three years," TJ confirmed, "How've you been, Spence?"

"Well, as you can tell, it's been better," the man shrugged, "But man, you look great, considering...I mean, you look great, man."

"Thanks," TJ muttered. Spencer, as the man was now identified as, turned suddenly, abruptly.

"Hey, guys, TJ's here!" he cried out and a man peeked from out a door to the far end of the diner, most likely from the kitchen, staring shocked down at the odd couple.

"Hey, TJ. Long time no see, how's it going?" he called in a deep throated blast, several other heads peeking out, waving, and even a few of the waiters and waitresses paused from what they were doing to send smile greetings TJ's way. Millicent sat, staring blankly.

"Give us five minutes, man, and we'll have your usual table ready," Spencer said, turning back to TJ, and calling over his shoulder, "HEY! NEW GUY!"

"No," TJ blurted out, then, his cheeks flushed, his eyes downcast, he murmured, "Not the usual table. Any other table will do. Just not the..." his words seemed to catch in his throat, "Not the...usual table, please." Spencer frowned slightly, his brow furrowing in concern, and nodded as a wide-eyed youth dressed in the busboy uniform came to stand next to him.

"New guy," Spencer commanded, "Get the second finest table ready for this good man here."

"But, sir...that table's occupied by..."

"Are they more important then this man here?" Spencer demanded, then with a heavy sigh, "You wouldn't know. Just get rid of them. Move them if you have to." The busboy nodded, then ran off again. Spencer turned his attention back to TJ, "So...um...how you been?"

"Erm...I'm on a date," was the garbled answer. Spencer gave Millicent, who stood in gapping awe, a once over.

"Hi, I'm Spencer," he finally greeted, "I'm in charge of this restaurant, amongst many others owned by our great proprietor, Vincent LaSalle."

"I'm Millicent," came her soft reply. She seemed incapable of forming words in her stun at her odd date's ability to influence so much commotion in the finest restaurant in town. So Spencer turned back to TJ.

"Do you want us to call Mr. LaSalle?" he asked, "We could have him down here..."

"That's alright," TJ said, shaking his head.

"I...uh...you look good," Spencer repeated, looking to his shining black formal shoes. Millicent looked between the two men, feeling as though she were left out from something, and normally she would have said something as she didn't like being left out, but this seemed deep, almost like something she didn't want to know.

It took a little more than five minutes to get the couple situated at a table, and TJ assured Spencer and "new guy" that it was all right. The table really was one of the finest, nearly isolated from the rest of the dining room. The wall the surrounded the booth table was adorned with several pictures and Millicent found herself studying them.

"Is that you?" she asked, pointing to one of the pictures in particular of a young man, unmistakably the young man before her, standing with a beautiful young woman with raven dark hair and eyes. TJ didn't have to look at the picture to know what it was of. He nodded slightly, and silently thanked the waiter that set their drinks before them. Millicent seemed fascinated by the picture, "She looks familiar...was she an actress or something..."

"She went to see Gretchen a lot, at the hospital, you probably saw her there," TJ responded, discontent in his voice. He squirmed slightly in the booth, and Millicent caught his eyes.

"Sorry," she exclaimed, "I don't mean to gush...but I've never been out with someone who could waltz into a high class place like this without a reservation, and without having to dish out serious cash for the host, and have a table in under ten minutes. Are there anymore pictures of you?"

"A few," TJ admitted, flushing terribly, "But they're no big deal."

"Oh my god, that's Michael Blumberg!" And for a brief panicky moment, TJ found himself glancing about the room, until he realized she was talking about one of the pictures, "I knew that the guy who owned this place was a big-time baseball player, but man, he knows, like, _everybody_!"

"You're a fan of Mike...eee...I mean, Michael Blumberg?" TJ asked, attempting to make conversation, and to take his mind off of the familiar surroundings. It had been the only restaurant he could think of to go, but he hadn't counted on the memories it would bring rushing back, nor the emotions connected to them. When Vince had first opened the place, the entire gang had spent nights there "tearing it up", with dancing, singing, all-out partying. But then, their lives started getting in the way and they could only go there every so often. Then, the accident happened.

"I am probably his _biggest_ fan!" Millicent squealed and TJ winced. He knew Mikey hated that phrase, "Why? Aren't you? He's only the greatest, and hottest, actor to hit Hollywood. He's so sweet, and deep, and...oh god, I could marry him if I ever met him." TJ looked away, biting his inner cheek to bleeding. "The first time I saw him," she continued, "I knew I was his...I mean, well, I'm not deluded, I know that I'll probably never meet him in a million years. Jeez, I probably sound like a pimple-faced, hormone driven, blonde, teeny-bopper." TJ shrugged, finding it best not to comment on that. "But, I don't know...I believe in love at first sight, don't you?"

"No," TJ said, before he could stop himself. She perked up slightly, turning her full attention back to him.

"You don't? Why not?" A challenge. TJ turned his glass slightly, shaking the ice cubes within it.

"I just..." he cleared his throat, meekly, "It just seems to be too based on sexual attraction, more so, than anything else. I mean, I can look at a woman and decide that I'm attracted to her, but, not if I love her. I'd have to know her a little longer."

"But you have to admit that attraction has a lot to do with loving someone?"

"It helps to be attracted to them. But, I don't know, sometimes attraction grows in you," TJ shrugged, sinking back into the red booth.

"It all seems a bit too idealistic for me. Acquired love like acquired taste. Honestly, if a man told me he wasn't attracted to me at first but I kind of grew on him...I don't know what I'd do," Millicent said, raising her eyebrow skeptically, "Have you ever even been in love?"

"Have you?" TJ shot back. For a moment they stared at each other in a dead standstill until TJ finally said, "How about I tell you a story, and then _you_ tell _me_ if I've ever been in love?"

"Alright," Millicent agreed, nodding, "Spill it." TJ sighed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed into the hardwood of the table, his eyes closed.

"You know how you can have someone in your life, for a long time, and you get to know everything about them?" He received a nod, "Alright. Then you know how when they're suddenly not there, at first, everything about them remains in your mind, clear as day? But then time goes on, and slowly, things start to fade. In the beginning, you start to forget little things, like maybe their flaws that were never important to you anyways. But then, other things start to leave you, like the way they smelled, or the way they felt, and then you start to forget what they're voice sounded like, and then eventually, you can barely recall how they looked. I mean, you'll have the basic image in your mind, but you'll forget where a certain mole was located at or if they had freckles or not, and where on the body those freckles were located. Were they just on the cheeks, or were there some on the shoulders, or down the arms? Until finally all you have left is a few hazy memories that you can't even recall the exact details of anyways, and maybe a few pictures that you can't remember taking.

"And you forget to be sad that they're gone, because you can't really remember them anyways," TJ took a drink from his glass, before continuing, his voice starting out steady, and breaking ever so slightly, "For me, it's not like that. Three years have passed and I can still remember the exact way she would wear her hair, and how each strand would fall. I can still see that birthmark on the side of her hip, and I can remember how sweet it tasted. I remember that she smelled really good after a shower, but best in the middle of the night because that was when she really smelled like herself. I remember that she fit just right in my arms, like she was made to be there, and that even now I startle awake without the weight of her sleeping on my chest, or next to me. I sometimes think I hear her calling my name, and that voice, her voice is constantly in my mind." He faltered there, frowning at his glass, seeming uncertain of what to do, if maybe he'd gone too far, or if maybe he'd done or said something he shouldn't have, "And I remember how cranky she could be, and that we would fight about the stupidest things, things that don't seem to matter now, at least not as much as they did when we fought about them."

"You fought often?" Millicent found herself asking. At first, she thought maybe she shouldn't have, but TJ just somewhat smirked reminiscently.

"Yup," he commented, an absent hand floated subconsciously to his chin, "I remember she had a mean right hook, and she could knock me out with one sucker punch. And I remember that I would wake up with her hovering over me, biting her lip and her forehead wrinkled in concern, and that she would still deny that she'd done anything wrong. It would drive me crazy when she would use the last of the milk and stick the carton back in the fridge, and when she'd put her boots, covered in mud, on the table...and god...I miss it." TJ shook his head, took another sip of his drink, and frowned at the un-open menus in front of them, "What is love, anyways? Was I attracted to her at first? No. But then again, we _were_ only children at first. Did I love her at first? No. But then, after you've shared the sixth milkshake with four kids you'd never known the day before, and you've talked about everything important to a kid, something starts. I loved her; in the end I love her. It wasn't because she was some ideal woman that I saw and felt some hormonal reaction towards, but because I couldn't see anyone else when she was there, because I knew everything about her, and those things made her beautiful, and attractive to me. I don't think of it as being in love, because that makes it sound like it was a moment in time, or a phase...I think of it as a...as a realization. The feeling was there all the time; I just had no one to feel it towards, at least, I thought I didn't. I slowly had to realize it. I don't know, I guess I'm not making any sense, so I should end this story here. It wasn't love at first sight, that's all I can tell you, it was just something so much more."

"What was her name?" Millicent asked, both parties shaking, as though awoken from a trance. TJ leaned back again, his eyes lowered.

"Maybe I made it all up," he said, "Maybe I lied."

"I would be very impressed if all of that was a lie," Millicent said, letting a smile warm it's way across her lips. But TJ said nothing more towards it, being the most he'd say for the rest of the night, and their waiter arrived to take their orders. Millicent talked most of the time, and TJ seemed more than willing to listen. He'd nod every now and then, make a comment here or there, but for the most part he was silent, picking at his plate. Millicent loved to talk, and she loved to be listened to, and she loved how when they left everyone who worked in the restaurant seemed to want to talk to her date and say good-bye and give him well wishes and come again anytime's, and she loved standing there feeling important as the rest of the guests in the restaurant watched.

When they reached TJ's home, Millicent couldn't help but feel slightly ridiculous walking him to the door. It was a nice house, fairly small, with an unkempt lawn. They stood on the porch facing one another, illuminated by the porch light.

"I had a really good time tonight," Millicent admitted, taking TJ's hand in her own and convinced that he had just as great a time as she did. Of course, she was hoping for a kiss goodnight. "I mean, it was a rough start...but you kind of grew on me." TJ shifted uncomfortably, staring at the door anxiously, and gently taking his hand from her own. "What's the matter? Don't tell me you have wife somewhere..." she joked, then looking to the ground, "Don't think I could handle that one again..." In an instant, TJ's eyes lit up.

"I do," he told her and her eyes shot up to meet his. "I'm sorry, I do. I have a wife somewhere. I'm really sorry. I should have told you. Good night." He slipped into the house quickly leaving behind the stunned Millicent.

-0-0-0-0-------------October 1998--------------0-0-0-0-

I leaned heavily against the side of the school, attempting to pay attention as the girl in front of me, Jena Masters, talked about our class work and how she was having trouble understanding it. Jena was a cheerleader, dressed in her short pleated skirt and regulation tank top for spirit day, her blonde hair brushing along her shoulders. She was asking about math, a class we shared mutually.

"I'm just saying...well, you're at the top of the class, and I'm kind of not doing so well...I _have_ to keep my grades up to stay on the squad," she sighed, twisting a strand of her hair about her finger. She was flirting; I was oblivious to most things having to do with girls, but that much I could tell. I knew for a fact that the notebook she held had scribbles of hearts containing my initials, her name written with my last attached, little girly things that expressed her feelings towards me. I felt bad, she was pretty and extremely popular with her cheerleading status, and I knew I should have been interested. But I wasn't.

"Well, you see," I chuckled, "Gretchen...you know, Gretchen Grundler?" She frowned somewhat. Oh yes, she knew Gretchen, queen of the nerds, dream girl of the science club and D&D players. Everybody knew Gretchen, the smartest student at Lincoln Middle School. "Yeah, she helps me with my math, and if it weren't for her, I wouldn't understand a bit of it."

"Oh..." Jena looked crestfallen. She'd assumed she'd found her way into my life. I felt bad. I knew, I just knew, that if she hadn't gone about things the shy way and simply asked me out, I couldn't have said 'no', because that was how I was. Good ol' TJ, never wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, always wanting to be liked by everyone. And I would date her, go through the false charade of boyfriend, girlfriend; and eventually she would dump me because I didn't act interested. Because I wouldn't be interested. It had been that way with my past three "girlfriends" and Jena would have been no different.

I know it sounds weird. Any other young teenage boy like myself would be wishing and praying for a girl like Jena to pay them any attention, but I wasn't. The truth is, there was only one girl I was interested in. The problem was she just happened to be the resident tough girl with a reputation to uphold, and one of my best friends.

Speaking of which, I spied Spinelli over the top of Jena's cleanly brushed blonde head making her way down the sidewalk towards the school. I smirked, my cheeks flushing slightly as they always seemed to do those days when I saw her. She was wearing an overly large black t-shirt with some heavy metal band name printed across it, probably salvaged from her brother's closet. Her biker boots, footwear she'd donned in early childhood, clicked rhythmically every time one hit the pavement, and she was wearing headphones while bobbing her head to the music, undoubtedly a loud rock band, screaming in her ears. She'd pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and it looked like she hadn't even bothered to brush it, but it was so short it didn't really matter. She was a slacker to say the least, a lone binder sporting a few loose sheets of paper her only school material, and she most likely had some writing instrument shoved in her pocket, unless she'd forgotten it. People walked by her and paid her no heed; she was as good as nobody to them. She really had no other friends besides the gang, and she liked it that way. People thought of her as a loner, kept their distance, and scorned her for her locale attitude. And somehow, where others would overlook her as a part of the background, I couldn't help but notice her. Before it was because she was my friend, a familiar face, but now...now it was different.

I thought to call out to her, but somehow the words caught in my throat. It had never been a big deal before, yelling a greeting down the street, but it seemed stupid, immature, and a bit too gaudy now. I wanted to seem cool, casual, and nonchalant; no matter how ridiculous and childish I felt beneath her gaze.

"Well...anyways, TJ," Jena started again, and I felt my stomach twist in dread of what I felt coming, turning my attention back to the pert girl, "I was wondering..."

"Hey, Teej." I glanced up, which was unnecessary as I could conjure up an image of that voice's owner in my mind anytime. Spinelli stood behind Jena; hand on hip, headset around her neck, still blasting music, which sounded like only a melodic buzzing to me. Jena frowned at her, shifting her backpack, stuffed full of books. She looked like she had a biting comment ready to lash out and was fully ready to do just that, when I spoke up.

"Spin," I nodded in greeting, "Did you think about what I asked you...last night, on the phone?" She stuck her tongue out in distaste, recalling the conversation we'd had, because, of course, we always talked on the phone late at night. We were insomniacs, plain and simple, and we needed company. Now, pertaining to our conversation, for nearly three weeks I'd been asking, begging, pleading for a date, and last night was no exception. You'd think I'd be shy about it, but to be honest, I'd never been shy when it came to getting what I wanted.

"Think about it? I gave you my answer last night," she argued.

"So...'no' doesn't mean you'll think about it?" I questioned, scrunching my nose as though it really didn't make any sense.

"It means no, Teej," Spinelli sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. I could see Jena frowning, growing uncomfortable and feeling extremely left out, as people tended to when anyone in the gang was around each other. We don't mean to leave other people out, we just, seem to slip into our own world that nobody else really exists in.

"Oh...so that's a 'no' to Friday night..." I mumbled, then, my eyes lighting up, I said, "How about Saturday?"

"No."

"Sunday?"

"_No_."

"What about Monday...?"

"School night."

"Damn. What about the next Friday?"

"Weren't you supposed to wait for me this morning? I thought we were walking to school together?" she attempted to change the subject, though I could see the corners of her lips wanting to turn up into a smile at my persistence.

"You were late."

"I slept in."

"The school bell waits for no one."

"Yeah," she concurred, "But you ain't no school bell."

"I'm going to go..." Jena mumbled, but no one was really paying her any mind as it was, so she slipped away without another word. And if I wasn't completely engrossed in my argument with Spinelli, I would have felt bad.

"How about next Saturday?"

"_What_?"

"Go out with me next Saturday," I repeated.

"Teej..."

"Spinelli." She sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation, tightening her hold on her binder.

"We're really good friends...and we're really good at being friends," she started and I groaned.

"You're not giving me the 'I-don't-want-to-ruin-our-friendship-with-a-relationship' speech, are you?"

"Shut up, I've been practicing," she snapped, "Okay...where was I? Now I've lost my concentration, and I'll have to start over. Teej, we are really good friends, and we're really good..." I clamped a hand over her mouth.

"One night, Spinelli, one date. That's all I'm asking for. We'll never know unless we see. I know that I've had relationships and they didn't last longer then a week, that I was never serious about them, and now those girls won't even talk to me, but Spinelli, I'm serious about this. You are the only girl I've ever asked out, if that's any indication of how much I want this. Now, _before_ you answer, think about it. _One_ date, _one_ night out, and if it's too weird, and you don't like it, I'll _never_ ask again. And we'll forget it happened. And we'll just go back to normal, nothing harmed. But we have to see, _I_ have to see, if there's any chance." I pulled my hand back slowly, holding her eyes with my own. She was silent a moment, the bell rang, and the other students around us made their shuffling ways into the halls of the school, heading for their first periods.

"Fine," she sighed, glancing anxiously to the door, "_One_ date. This Friday, let's get it over with..." she shook her head, "_Now_, can we go to class?" I grinned, ushering her forward, opening the front door for her, which gained a scowl, and waved as we split in separate directions down the halls, nearly running into a group of people in my lightheadedness, and thankful she didn't see it.

-0-0-

I stared blankly at my shirtless reflection in my bathroom mirror. I held one shirt up, and then another. For two stressful days I had waited, two stressful, painful, avoiding Spinelli in the hallways for fear of my chest exploding from my pounding heart, days. And somehow, I managed to last until Friday night.

"How about this one?" Vince called from my room, peeking in with a Señor Fusion decaled tee. I frowned at him.

"Are you here to help or not?"

"I thought I _was_ helping," he whined, then muttered, "Maybe we should call Mikey, he's better at this fashion stuff."

"I already did," Gus shouted from where he sat on my bed, flipping casually through one of my comics, "Mrs. Blumberg said he left somewhere with Gretchen."

"Snake," Vince hissed, "Gretch took him to make-over Spinelli...the conniving little..."

"Now, now Vince, this isn't a contest," I reminded him.

"She's probably got all four Ashleys over there, too," Vince rambled on, shaking his head in disgust.

"I was thinking a movie would be good," I interrupted, "Do you think a movie would be good? There's this action flick out that I know..."

"No way, man," Gus said, tossing the comic to the foot of my bed, "You do not go see anything with exploding and death in it on a first date." Gus had successfully been on two dates in his middle school career, with two separate girls, neither of which managed to turn into something more. He'd grown tall, the poor boy, an awkward growth spurt somewhere in the middle of sixth grade. He just woke up one morning nearly a foot and a half taller, and hasn't recovered since.

"Oh really," I humored him, being the more experienced dater, "And what do I go see on a first date?"

"Something lovey-dovey, that'll make her cry. Then she'll have to go to you for comfort. _Or_ a horror film...you know, so that when she gets scared, she can find safety in your arms," he explained.

"You do know we're talking about Spinelli, here, right?" I asked rhetorically, glancing in at him. He frowned.

"Oh yeah, right. I forgot she's not a normal girl." Gus looked to the floor sheepishly, "But that only makes a lovey-dovey movie better, because you know she won't be watching the movie, and there's only a few things you can do in a theatre. You can watch the movie...or you can..."

"Gus!" I snapped, "This is only our first date..." I trailed off, "It may be our only date."

"I can't believe you guys are _actually_ going on a date," Vince mumbled, shaking his head, "It seems only yesterday you were children at the playground and she was yelling at you for knocking over her pile of sand."

"Uh...Vince? That _was_ yesterday. She hit me too, I still have the bruise."

"Oh, yeah," Vince chuckled, "I think you should go with the white shirt, you always looked better in white."

"Yup, you do," Gus shouted his agreement. I raised the nice cotton T-shirt with the intricate design across the front up to my neck, raising an eyebrow as I studied it. With a sigh, I removed it from the hanger and pulled it over my head.

"Do you think girls have this much trouble getting ready?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair to no avail, it was a permanent mess, "Where's my hat?"

"You're gonna wear your hat on a date?" Gus scoffed, joining us in the bathroom, and searching through my drawers.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that? That hat is a part of me, it defines who I am," I shrugged, searching for my comb, "Besides, I'm having a bad hair day."

"Don't you have any hair gel?" Gus asked, and I stared blankly at him, and then glanced at his keenly slicked and spiked crew cut.

"I ask again, where's my hat?"

A half hour later I was heading out the door, Vince and Gus trailing behind me.

"I'm going out, mom," I called into the house, then shut the door before she could answer, which would have undoubtedly led to a game of twenty questions. I straightened my cap on my head, and headed towards Spinelli's house, waving over my shoulder at my friends picking up their bicycles and heading, most likely, to Kelso's. They said something about meeting Gretchen and Mikey. Spinelli only lived four houses down, so it was a short walk. I knocked on the door and waited, surprised when it swung open and Spinelli's brother, Vitto stood before me, frowning down at me.

"Uh...is...is your sister ready?" I asked. Vitto, as well as the older Spinelli brother Joey, was short, and well built. Joey, like his sister, had dark eyes and hair, but Vitto had lighter hair and faded green eyes that freaked the hell out of me. He had a way of seeming like he was looking right at you, even if he wasn't. He crossed his arms over his chest, and gave me a once over, as though determining whether he should punch my lights out right then and there simply for having the tenacity to show up on his doorstep asking for his sister. And, of course, as I was when it came to all the Spinelli men, I was scared to death.

Finally, he called over his shoulder, "Sis, you're friend's here."

"I'll be a minute," she snarled in reply from upstairs, most likely in her room.

"Can I...can I maybe come in?" I asked, but immediately regretted it when Vitto scowled down at me, "Or I could always wait out here..."

"No," Vitto spat, opening the door wider and stepping back, "Come in. There are things I need to maker clear with you." I moved in slowly, and Vitto plumped down on a reclining chair that Bob Spinelli, the father, usually occupied. I shut the door behind me, standing as close to it as I could while still being able to see him. "Sit," he commanded, and for a brief second I almost sat on the floor where I stood. But I was able to fight that urge, making my way into the living room and taking a seat on the couch.

"So...um...how's it going?" I started.

"Where you taking my sister?" he demanded, leaning forward slightly, flexing his impressively well-toned muscles. I gulped.

"I was thinking we'd go see a movie..."

"No."

"What?"

"You're not taking her anywhere that's dark."

"Oh...okay," I grimaced, that ruled out a few places, "Then I guess I'll take her to get something to eat..."

"Where?"

"Kelso's maybe," I shrugged, "Or a pizza place..."

"No."

"Huh?"

"You take her somewhere nice," Vitto jabbed the air with his finger pointing at me threateningly.

"I guess there's that café..."

"Good. How you getting there?"

"I figured we'd walk."

"No. My sister isn't _walking_ anywhere on a date."

"Then what do I do? I'm too young to drive...and my parents..."

"Carry her."

"_What? _I don't think I _can_ carry her..."

"Are you implying something about my sister's weight?" he was halfway out of the chair before I could answer in a shaky stutter.

"No...no...I'm just saying...I'm kind of scrawny. And besides, I think your sister would hit me if I tried to carry her...and I don't know if you've noticed or not, sir, but your sister hits hard." I forced a smile. He frowned at me, settling back into the chair, tapping the arm steadily.

"It's good that you know that," he seethed.

"What's going on?" I stood up at that voice, turning to see her standing at the stairs. My mouth dropped. I couldn't help it. The first thing I noticed was that she was wearing a skirt. Now, when Spinelli wears a skirt, she's either going to church or all hell has frozen over. I flushed, shamefully noticing that she had nice legs. She was wearing her usual boots; I highly doubted she owned any other shoes. Her face was powdered lightly with make-up, it was subtle, but after years of seeing her without make-up, I could tell when she was wearing some. Her hair was brushed, which in itself was amazing, and curled. I knew that girls got dressed up like that everyday for school, or just for going out in public, but I didn't know any other girl who looked as beautiful all done up like that, at least, not in my opinion.

"Spin..." I started, realizing I probably should be saying something. She frowned at me.

"I knew it," she groaned, "I look stupid. This is Mikey and Gretchen's fault...oh man, I'm changing..."

"No, wait," I called after her, not wanting her to leave, especially looking the way she did, "I'm sorry...you look...well, you don't look stupid," I said sheepishly, "I'm just...you look nice." She looked better than nice. She took a moment, considering, before sighing and coming down the stairs.

"Let's go," she muttered, she shot a glower at Vitto, "You better not of threatened him."

"What? I didn't threaten," he said, putting on a guise of innocence that Spinelli could obviously see right through.

"He ain't a chump like those other guys, he's my friend," she hissed, "So _don't threaten him_."

"I ain't threatening no one," Vitto maintained, raising from his chair to give his sister a quick kiss on the forehead, and disappearing into the kitchen.

"Let's go, Teej," she said, leading the way out the door.

"Bye," I mumbled to Vitto, certain he didn't hear me, and not really wanting him to. Outside, I relaxed, the familiar chink of Spinelli's boots reminding me that under all the girly gunk she was still herself, the person I was most comfortable around. She stopped at the sidewalk, and looked at me.

"Where we going?"

"Um...well, to eat, I guess," I said. I took her hand in my own, bracing myself against whatever repercussions that small action would bring. For a moment, she stared blankly at our clutched hands, and I distinctly saw a little color rise to her cheeks. I grinned triumphantly. Now, this was a girl that could beat the crap out of me, that could unabashedly race a three hundred pound bully in chugging a two-liter of soda in front of the entire cafeteria and ring in her victory with a loud burp, who could take me by surprise with a quick kiss on a cold porch stealing the frost from my lips. Making _her_ blush was truly something to be proud of.

"Okay," she whispered, suddenly finding her shoes incredibly interesting. I led her down the street, our fingers intertwined. We were silent at first, but when the two of us were together, silence rarely lasted. "Me and my dad went to a wrestling match last weekend, just the two of us. With Vitto back in the house, we hardly ever get to do anything together anymore."

"Yeah? Ever since Becky moved out, all my parents seem to want to do is spend time with me. It's driving me crazy. How long's Vitto staying?"

"Don't know," she shrugged, our shoulder's brushing against one another. That was the wonderful thing about holding hands; it forces you to be close together, which gave ample opportunity for "accidental" bumping into one another. It also gave room for a great deal of pondering. Pondering about how soft her hand felt, how warm it was, and most importantly, if, maybe, she was thinking how neatly they fit together like I was.

"You two are close, aren't you?"

"I guess so," she said, "And if Joey were here we could all really stir up trouble. And ma's been cooking a lot lately, she always does when Joey or Vitto are in town. We had three-cheese lasagna last night with a chocolate cake dessert. I mean; she acts like they don't eat when they're not here." I stopped in front of the café; it having only been a ten-minute walk. "I've never eaten here before," she noted.

"Oh good, neither have I," I said, opening the door for her which resulted in her sticking her tongue out at me, and me grinning back. The host looked us over with a frown as I counted the money I had in my pocket. My dad had given me three twenties before I left, and I'd had forty-seven fifty saved from allowance.

"I have money," Spinelli whispered in my ear, and I shook my head.

"This is a _date_, Spin," I reminded her, "You know, the guy pays."

"This is the nineties, Teej," she retorted, "We'll split the bill, fifty-fifty."

"No," I took her hand back in mine, shoving the money in my pocket, "I have enough money. And call me old-fashioned, but I think the guy should pay."

"And that's how it's supposed to be," the host commented, before gathering up two menus and leading us to a table, "This is a non-smoking establishment," he said, as I pulled out the chair for Spinelli and she scowled at me, "But I would assume we wouldn't have a problem with you two."

"Yeah, we don't smoke," I nodded; taking my own seat and receiving a swift kick in the shins from a very disgruntled Spinelli. I made a face.

"Are you alright," the host questioned, looking at me strangely.

"Yeah," I grimaced, trying to rub the sore spot beneath the table, "Fine." He nodded, before leaving.

"Your server will be with you shortly," he called over his shoulder. I glowered at Spinelli.

"What did you do that for?" I demanded quietly.

"Quit treating me like a lady," she hissed in return.

"Well, you look like a lady, so I figured I'd treat you like one."

"Well...don't! It makes it weird." I frowned at the table. I didn't want this to be weird for her, I wanted it to work.

"Sorry, my mistake," I muttered. We were silent a moment, but like I said, between the two of us, there's going to be noise. It's almost like a genetic thing. She's Italian, I'm Jewish, it's almost as though we _have _to talk; it's like an instinct, an unnatural urge. "How'd they get your hair to do that...to look the way it does?"

"They washed it," she explained, and I nodded, my mouth forming a silent 'oh', "Then they used these plastic rollers, that were painful sons of..." she shook her head and I chuckled slightly, smirking, "And a hairdryer, and it kind of stuck like this. Then Mikey sprayed it with hairspray, which isn't fun I might add, I got some in my mouth and if you think it smells horrible...and _then_ they still had to pull out the curling iron. You know, I have had so many traumatic experiences with that object that they couldn't get me to stand still..."

"Man, and I thought it was hard getting myself ready," I whistled.

"What did you have to do?" she inquired, generally interested. I tapped the table awkwardly, grinning somewhat.

"Oh...I had to decide which shirt to wear." She frowned.

"That it?"

"I also had to decide if I should wear cologne." She strummed her fingers along the table.

"Oh really? Sounds like a hard decision. Whadja decide?"

"Can't you tell?" I was growing rather uncomfortable under her stare, and, as if by luck or on cue, the waitress arrived.

"Hello, I'm Maven, I'll be your server today," she piped, and we both turned to look at her in shock of her entrance, "Can I start you off with a few drinks?"

"Colas are good..." I spoke up, which earned me another kick, "Ow. What was _that_ for?"

"I can order for myself, thank you very much," Spinelli growled.

"And what can I get for you?" Maven asked, a little startled, and sounding a little frightened as ," Spinelli muttered. Maven gave me a sympathetic smile before leaving.

"Why are you being difficult?" I asked. She looked to the table, tracing her finger along the pattern on the cloth. "Do you kick all your dates, or am I just special?"

"I want you to treat me like normal, Teej, the way you always do," she mumbled, her eyes completely focused on the intricate tablecloth design, "As one of the gang. I don't want you going out of your way to open a door for me, or pulling out my chair for me or ordering for me. I still got a mouth, see, it works, I'm using it right now."

"Well, we got a problem, Spin, because I want to do all those things for you. And I wasn't ordering for you. Is it my fault if I know you well enough to know what you drink?"

"I guess you are special, Teej," she said silently, "I never been on a date where the guy pulled a chair out for me. Only other guy who's ever pulled out a chair for me is my dad, and he ain't done that since I was eight."

"Are we gonna fight anymore tonight?"

"Probably."

"Well, can you stop with the kicking?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But I can't guarantee I won't punch your lights out."

"Fair enough." I leaned back in my chair and opened the menu when Maven returned with our drinks.

"You decide what you'd like for dinner?" she asked, noticeably looking to Spinelli.

"Give us a sec," I spoke up, then braced for a kick that never came. I looked to Spinelli, who nodded to Maven.

"Yeah, I think we need a sec." Maven shrugged.

"Okay, I'll check on you guys in a minute." She left and I met Spinelli's eyes.

"I think we're getting the hang of this," I told her and she nodded agreement. With the awkwardness eased by our argument, we slipped into our usual attitudes, with the familiarity of one another's company. Of course, the difference being that I took her hand under the table during our conversation, and held it in my own, gaining another victorious blush from her cheeks.

We left the café hand in hand, walking together to the park. She staked her claim on a swing, and I watched her sail through the air, leaning against the jungle gym. She stopped, digging her heels into the dirt and wrapping her arms around herself. She came to where I stood.

"Race ya' to the top of the monkey bars," she challenged, before tearing up the jungle gym.

I grinned, letting her take the lead, before pulling myself through the bars and meeting her at the top. She sat there, dangling her legs through the holes between the bars, smiling at me. I took a seat next to her. She shuddered, wrapping her arms over her bare arms. I shrugged off my jacket, moving to put it around her and she flinched.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Giving you my jacket," I explained, "You're cold, I'm not. That okay?"

"Sure..." she mumbled, as I wrapped the large jacket over her shoulders, drawing it together in front. I took the chance to brush a few strands of her hair from her face, and she met my eyes.

"If I kiss you, will you hit me?" I whispered. I knew if I were out on a date with any other girl, Jena Masters for instance, I never would have had to ask that question. She would want the kiss, expect it, and I could kiss her and she'd smile, maybe giggle, or flush. But Spinelli was different. For one thing, she was the only girl I'd ever kissed, the only girl I'd ever been kissed by, and in that moment, she became the only girl I'd ever wanted to kiss.

"Teej..." she tightened the jacket around her shoulders, staring down at the sand below them, "I don't know if we should. I don't want...we're friends, and I like being friends."

"So you didn't like tonight?" I demanded. I didn't understand it, why she couldn't see how nicely our hands fit together. I know her well enough to know when she likes something, and she liked tonight. She'd had fun, and she'd blushed for crying out loud.

"Have you even thought about things?" she cried out and I didn't know what to say. Spinelli wasn't the type to think things through; that happened to be my specialty. She was the type who rushed into things, did what felt right at the moment, with no regard to future consequences. "What happens if it doesn't work out? What happens to the gang? What happens to us...us, our friendship? A friendship that I hold higher then any other? A friendship I don't want to lose! A friendship I don't think I can handle losing..." her voice broke, tears forming in her eyes. I'd seen her cry before. I was probably the only person who'd ever seen her cry before. But I'd never made her cry before, so I could never have comprehended the pain it caused.

"Spin, sometimes I can't think everything through. Sometimes I can't see things clearly, at least, not when it comes to you. Sometimes you don't know if something is right until...until you just kiss the girl," I told her.

"These are relationships, Teej, feelings, emotions. It's not that simple!"

"But it is," I argued, slipping my hand around her neck, pulling her forward, "Just one kiss, Spin, just to see...you have to trust me..." Our first kiss was a child's kiss. The world had faded for a moment, but we couldn't comprehend or even begin to understand those emotions. The second kiss was stolen, a game, an apology of sorts. But as I brushed my lips against hers, the world did fade but I understood why, I could understand every emotion coursing through my veins, relishing in them, and I knew this wasn't a game. I felt her shake slightly beneath my touch and she pulled away, her eyes downcast.

We sat there, silent, each dreading asking the question that neither wanted the answer to. She slipped her arms through my jacket, bringing the sleeves up to her cover her mouth. I hated being so unsure of what to say to her, when our entire lives we'd told each other everything.

"It was weird, wasn't it?" she finally whispered. And I studied her in the poor lighting of our surroundings, trying to judge what she thought, trying to read her mind. She thought it was weird, I determined. And she wanted me to say that I thought the same.

"Did you think it was weird?" I replied. I wanted her to admit it was weird, I wasn't going to be the one to take that fall, and she couldn't put that on me that way. I wouldn't let her.

She nodded.

I looked away, out towards the suburban houses that made up our neighborhood. It was late, and there were hundreds of little lights on, shining through the little windows of that neighborhood. I wasn't sure what to do. I never imagined having my heart broken would hurt as much as it did. I could see her, from the corner of my eye, not wanting to look up, not wanting to look at me. I chewed my inner cheek until the metallic taste of blood spilled onto my tongue. And I knew, I just knew, that I had to bite that bullet. I couldn't tell her the truth, I couldn't tell her how I really felt about that kiss, because if I did, if I told her that it was mind blowing, that it was everything I had wanted it to be, and a great deal more, then we could never get back to the beginning. I didn't want to lose what we already had for something she didn't want. So, with my chest aching, with my body weary, my head pounding, my entire soul trembling. I spoke, praying that my voice didn't give me away.

"Yeah, me too," I was, after all, a good liar. She slipped between the bars, falling to the ground below, straightening and brushing off her knees. I tried not to watch, even though I always watched her.

"Walk me home?" She didn't have to ask. I leaped down from the monkey bars, shoving my hands in my pockets. There was nothing else I could do with them. We trailed in silence, and for the first time in our lives, neither of us broke that silence. On her porch, she handed me my jacket back, looked as though she wanted to say something, changed her mind and waved good-bye, shutting the door. I turned down the steps to the sidewalk, taking slow and steady steps towards my home. I didn't go inside. I went to the back, to my tree house, Fort Tender. I lay down in there, closed my eyes, and suddenly, I understood why she'd kept turning me down.

* * *

END A/N: QUICK! Move on to the rest!

:-:-:-: I forgot to make a note: First of all, I don't know if TJ is Jewish, as I've never seen any yule tide generic Hnunaka (?) episodes of Recess, and they wisely never talk about religion in the show. TJ just looks like he'd be Jewish to me. Can you just imagine him wearing one of those funny little hats? (I forget what they're called even though for a brief moment in time I wanted one...funny story actually...) And that statement I made was really a grosse generalization of Italians and people of the Jewish faith, and I apologize if it offended anyone. Though I doubt it would, unless it were some politically correct bozo. :-:-:-:

Once again, I AM SO SORRY!

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

ThANKS FOR on to the next half...


	5. Festering Mulch, con't

A/N: Once again, thank you dear reviewers, and please, continue with the story.

Badum, badum, badum...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 4: Festering 't.

The moment I walked into the boys' locker room for P.E., the moment I saw him, I knew what topic lay on Vince's lips. I had successfully avoided talking to him the entirety of the weekend, which wasn't incredibly hard as I had locked myself in my room and turned my stereo on full blast. My parents weren't very happy that weekend, but, to their credit, they seemed to sense that it was best to leave me alone. I collapsed on the bench, tossing my backpack to the ground.

"So?" Vince asked, grinning broadly. A few other guys greeted me on their ways to their lockers, getting ready to change for class, "How'd it go?"

"How'd what go?" A friend, an obnoxious boy that went by the name Dickie asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," I muttered, kicking my locker.

"Talk about what?" Dickie pressed. He hated being left out of anything, was extremely nosy, and did I mention he was obnoxious? But he did tell a lot of great jokes that you couldn't repeat in front of your parents, and sometimes, women, "Come on, TJ, tell Dr. Dickie all out it."

"He went on a date with Spinelli," Vince explained.

"That's great Vince. But you didn't say it loud enough for everyone to hear, so you may want to go around school and make sure everyone got the message. While your at it post a news bulletin, make an announcement over the intercom and maybe you could write a story, front page material right there," I ranted, laying down on the bench. I didn't mean to be harsh, but I wasn't exactly my cheerful self.

"Jeez, someone's cranky," Vince muttered.

"Sorry." I wasn't.

"Spinelli?" Tommy, a tiny curly haired boy commented from his locker, pulling his gym shirt over his head, "You went on a date with _that_ scary chick? I don't even think I could _talk_ to her for fear she'd bite my head off...literally." I laid my arms over my face, sighing.

"Alright, Dettwieler," a boy who went by the nickname Snicker, a miniature Casa Nova, said, sliding next to me, "How's this catch your fancy. A girl, a hot girl, and I'm talking _hot_. A lot hotter than that Spinelli chick, but I mean, that girl's a dog, so...but anyways, she's hot. She's a tenth grader, blond, got legs like you've never seen..."

"Did this have a point?" I demanded; my voice muffled by my arms.

"She's got it bad for you, Dettwieler," Snicker slapped my shoulder, "Can you imagine, a tenth grader, dreaming about _you_, thinking about _you_. Guys our age can only fantasize about something like that...well, not me, of course, but I will set you up with her, just say the..."

"What are you doing?" Vince snapped, "Get lost, will ya'?" Snicker left, heading back to his locker and Vince stole his seat. "Talk, Teej."

"I screwed up, Vince, I screwed up big time," I moaned, "Everything was going fine, and it was working, and then I screwed up."

"Alright, what happened? Where'd things go wrong?"

"When I kissed her."

"You _kissed_ that scary chick?" Tommy gasped. Vince and I both shot him glares.

"So...you guys kissed," Vince restated, trying to grasp what was wrong with that sentence, "It's not like you two haven't kissed before."

"But it was different this time Vince," I cried, pulling myself up, "You don't get it. She was there, I was there, we were on top of the monkey bars..."

"You were on top of monkey bars?" Dickie interrupted.

"Yes! We went to the park! We climbed to the top of the monkey bars, and she was wearing my jacket because she was cold, and she looked really, _really_ beautiful. And I wanted to kiss her."

"And you kissed her? Just like that?" Vince scrunched his nose, obviously trying to imagine it.

"No!" I groaned, "I asked."

"Fatal mistake," Snicker shook his head.

"Shut up," Vince and I snapped in unison.

"She didn't want to, and she said a lot of things that now that I think about it make a lot sense. But you know how I am, Vince, I wanted to kiss her so I kissed her," I sat up.

"Then what? Where'd it go wrong?" Vince pressed.

"She asked if I thought it was weird, and I asked her...she said it was, so I did."

"Did you? Did you think it was weird?"

"It's weird-ing _me_ out just hearing about it," Tommy commented.

"Teej?" I frowned, pulling myself up and busying myself with opening my locker.

"_You_ lied to her," Vince hissed knowingly.

"It's not like I haven't lied to her before," I said, pulling out my gym clothes, and sorting through them. "I just...what was I gonna do? Tell her the truth and ruin what we already have, a really great friendship? I want to be in her life, Vince, even if it's just as friends."

"Have you spoke to her since that night?"

"No."

"I thought you guys called each other every night." I said nothing, pulling my shirt off, balling it up and tossing it in the locker. "TJ, obviously lying to her didn't do anything. You have to tell her the truth. Maybe, I don't know, maybe she lied too. Maybe she thought she was telling you what you wanted to hear."

"You and I both know Spin's a bad liar, and she can't lie to me. I know her too well," I argued, pulling on my gym shirt and running my hand through my hair, a mess as usual.

"Maybe, Teej, maybe you heard what you thought you were going to hear," Vince suggested, "You haven't been thinking real clear lately when it comes to Spinelli, and you know it." I sighed, laying my forehead against the coolness of the lockers.

"And what if I tell her the truth? Huh? What happens then? She shoots me down, rejects me, _yet again_?"

"You're friendship will last. You've been through tougher times then this," Vince grinned, "I still remember when she broke your collector's edition Señor Fusion action figure, and you wouldn't talk to her for three weeks. That was bad."

"I was seven," I cried out in exasperation, "And I forgot about that. I'm still mad about it, by the way, that was my favorite one, my grandpa bought that for me for my birthday..."

"TJ, you have to tell her the truth," Vince repeated, "One way or another, you're friendship is getting torn apart. I spoke to Gretch, she said..."

"You spoke to Gretch? Why is what's going on between Spin and me so fascinating to you guys?"

"Because we love you both. Anyways, Gretch said that Spin's been...well she hasn't been herself. She's been crying..."

"Spinelli doesn't cry." Of course, I knew that wasn't true.

"Well, she has been. You made this mess, Teej, now you have to take responsibility and clean it up," Vince gave me one last pat on the shoulder before leaving to his own locker. I sighed.

"Let's go, boys," Coach called from the doorway, ushering the already dressed students out the door. I had to finish changing, but my mind was once again on Spinelli, well, it had never left her. But Vince had a point, and I hated that. And if what Gretchen said was true, then I didn't want her crying.

-0-0-

When the bell for lunch rang I found Spinelli by her locker, shuffling through the mess. There were a few other people around, but everyone else had already gone to class or the cafeteria in a rush to beat the long lunch lines. For what I had to tell her, I didn't really want an audience, and I knew she'd appreciate not having one as well. I snuck up behind her, tapping her shoulder. She spun around, caught my eyes for a brief moment, and looked away. They were red, her eyes that is. It was faded, but I could tell, she had been crying. I felt a pang of guilt.

"What's up?" she asked, and I could hear her draw in a deep breath. She focused on the mess that was her locker, most likely searching for her wallet or lunch bag.

"Nothing," I leaned against the lockers, noticing a small group of girls chatting, shooting odd glances my way, and then breaking into giggles. One of them in particular was staring. It made me uncomfortable. We were silent, and I hated it, that tension hanging in the air between us. "Spin..."

"Can I borrow a dollar?" she interrupted, "Apparently I forgot my lunch at home, and I'm broke."

"Oh...yeah, sure," I searched my back pocket for my wallet, produced the bill and handed it over, "Spinelli," I tried again, and she froze, "We need to talk...about that night."

"Don't," she slammed her locker door shut, "It's over, and it's done. Can't we just forget about it, already?"

"No," I protested, "Spinelli..." 

"I'm hungry. And I have a test in history," she told me, "I don't want to deal with this right now."

"Maybe we should try again."

"_What?_" she cried, evidently confused.

"Maybe we should try it again, the kiss I mean. The first time is supposed to be weird," I licked my lips, dried out, staring at the ground, "Can we? Try it again, I mean?"

"We talked about this, we dealt with all of this," Spinelli shook her head, her words quavering.

"No, we didn't. We lied to each other, to ourselves," I yelled, my temper rising, I jerked away from the lockers, turned to her, "For what? Our friendship? We'll still have the friendship, Spinelli, it's strong, it's not going anywhere, so what are you so afraid of?"

"Why can't you just overlook me like everyone else, Teej?" she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks, "Why can't you just pretend I'm an ugly part of the background?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet? I really, _really_ like you." She glanced to the girls whose full attention was on us now, each one staring intently. What she read in them, I couldn't know, I didn't even bother to look at them. Spinelli was there in front of me; no one else was worth looking at.

"It was a really good kiss, Teej," she whispered, her bottom lip trembling. I smiled, running a thumb along her cheek, wiping away the tears.

"I lied," I told her, "I didn't think it was weird, Spin. It was...it felt right." She smiled, soft, careful, the most feminine smile I'd ever seen cross her face. "So...can we try it again?" She nodded. I didn't hesitate, and she didn't have to tell me twice, as I bent, brushing my lips against hers.

"YES!" A shout, which could only be attributed to Vince, resounded from the end of the hallway and cheering broke out. We broke apart and I looked up, to see the gang down the hall. Vince shaking his fists in the air triumphantly, Gus hooting pumping his arm wildly in wide circle. Gretchen was clapping and laughing at the ruckus the others were causing, and even getting in the spirit enough to whistle. Mikey was standing, nodding his head, clapping his hands together and chanting, "Encore, encore..." Spinelli buried her face in my chest, an action I really didn't mind, that I, in fact, found quite pleasing. I could tell that her face was red.

"Oh man," she moaned.

"Brilliantly displayed," Mikey went on, "Though, the next kiss I recommend should be a little deeper. Spinelli, you have to lean _in_, you _want_ it, remember?" Spinelli threw her head back, breaking into laughter, and somehow I managed to snake my hand behind her neck and draw her in to another kiss, and I was almost certain that I wouldn't be able to stop kissing her. That is, until a nearby classroom door was thrown open and the teacher stepped out.

"What is going on out here?" the balding man demanded, "Hey, you kids! PDA's are against school..." I grabbed Spinelli's wrist.

"It's time to go," I told her, and we all broke into a sprint down the hallway towards the cafeteria.

"Hey! Get back here! No running in the hallways...oh..." the teacher shook his head, retreating back into his classroom. I stopped as soon as we turned the corner, dragging her in for another kiss, my hand resting in the small of her back and drawing her forward. Her hands came to rest lightly on both sides of my waist, and I knew at that moment, that, if I had my way, she would be the first, last, and only girl I ever kissed.

-0-0-0-0---------------------Present Time---------------------0-0-0-0-

Gretchen leaned over the appointment book laid open on the front counter, checking for when her next patient was due in. She smiled. An opening at last, no appointments for two straight hours. Now all she had to worry about were surprise visits from her clients. She was startled when she turned to find Millicent standing there. She hadn't spoken to the secretary yet about the date with TJ the night before, but Gretchen could tell from the look on Millicent's face that something had gone wrong.

"I'm just checking..." Gretchen started to explain, but trailed off, "So, how's it going?"

"Fine," Millicent shrugged, "Here are those files you asked for yesterday." She handed them over stiffly, then maneuvering her way around Gretchen, "Oh, and thanks for setting me up with your _married_ friend last night."

"Married?" Gretchen furrowed her brow, taking a moment to process this information, "You went on a date with _TJ_, right?"

"Yeah, and at first I was beginning to think I'd gotten a real great guy. I mean, do you know the sway he has over at Chez Vince, was _does_ he do for a living? Of course, at the end of the date he had the courtesy of divulging his marital status with me."

"But TJ isn't..." Gretchen started, then closed her eyes, groaning inwardly.

"Forget about the wife? Don't tell me she's a howling banshee, because it still makes him married," Millicent made to leave, but Gretchen caught her.

"Please, don't go. I just...I'm going to straighten this out, and TJ owes you an apology," Gretchen told her.

"What?"

"Just wait, alright," Gretchen begged. Millicent placed hands on her hip, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm _waiting_." Gretchen fell into Millicent's swivel chair and picked up the phone, quickly dialing. She occupied herself with chewing her thumbnail until a groggy voice filled the phone on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"TJ? It's Gretchen," she whispered roughly.

"Gretch..." TJ moaned, "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"It's two in the afternoon, Teej," she snapped.

"Oh..."

"Are you _still_ in bed?" she demanded, but already knew the answer, so she didn't wait for one, "I have Millicent here, telling me that you told her you're married."

"I didn't tell her I was married," TJ retorted drowsily into the phone, shifting, "She asked if I had a wife somewhere and, technically, I do." Gretchen wasn't sure what it was that made her snap, but she was suddenly on her feet seething with rage.

"Theodore, listen very carefully, and please keep in mind that I only say this because I love you. She is dead. She is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead," Gretchen could barely keep her voice from a scream and she was well aware of the people in the waiting room turning to look at her, "She's been dead for three years! _Three years_, TJ. She isn't coming back. Get out of bed; _take that damn ring off your finger_, take a shower; I don't know when you last took one, but I'm sure you need one now, and pack away her things; put it in storage if you have to, but just pack it all away. And stop this. Because she's gone, and she's not coming back...she's just...she's gone. I don't want to lose you with her..." Gretchen was more than aware of the tears trailing down her cheeks, and that she was gripping the table so hard her knuckles were white, and that she truly needed the support. There was silence on the other end of the line. "TJ?" she whispered, her voice shaking. No answer. "TJ!" she cried, frantically.

"Right," he finally replied, solemnly. There was a click, and then the dial tone.

"TJ," she whispered, knowing he was gone and couldn't hear her anymore. She gaped, sobs shaking through her, "Oh god," she whispered, "Oh god..." She hung up, dialing another number.

"Hey," a voice filled the phone.

"Vince?" Gretchen whimpered.

"Gretch?" there was alert in his voice, "What's wrong?"

"TJ...it's TJ...we have to...I didn't mean to..."

"Gretchen, breath," Vince directed her, "What happened?"

"I didn't mean to say it Vince...but he...I was just so mad. Oh, God, it's TJ..."

"Get to his house, now, I'll call the gang," Vince barked, before slamming the phone down. Gretchen nodded, placing her own phone back to the cradle and turning to Millicent.

"Do you...I don't think I can drive, can you drive?" Millicent nodded, shaking from her shock.

-0-0-

It only took ten minutes to get from the hospital to TJ's house. But when Gretchen finally arrived; Vince, Mikey and Gus were already waiting outside. She was the only one with a key to the house and she assumed, from the way they all sat there, that TJ wasn't opening the door. She raced up the steps, taking them two at a time, and inserted her key in the lock.

"What did you say to him?" Vince demanded, and she said nothing, jingling her key in the lock because it wouldn't turn, although she knew, as practicality suggested, that the key wasn't in all the way. He grabbed her arm, turned her to face him, "What did you say to him?"

"Jesus Christ, Vincent," she snapped, "It's not like I said something that all of you haven't been thinking...that hasn't been on the tip of all of your tongues for the past year. I could not take it anymore. I had to say something...I had to say it..." she saw Millicent, leaning against the car staring uncertainly at the small group, most particularly Mikey, who had his usual incognito get-up; sunglasses, a cap, and a worn jacket with the collar turned up. Gretchen opened the front door and let it swing in. The gang felt their stomachs knot as they stepped in, staring warily about.

TJ sat leaning against the couch on the floor, his legs drawn up, staring blankly at nothing in particular. He didn't acknowledge their presence, didn't even bother to glance up. He held in his fingers a ring, his wedding ring that had been slipped on his finger by Spinelli on their wedding day. He rolled it around in his fingers, silently. It was nothing special, a thin gold band, misshapen from years of being worn, but he held it carefully, as though it were a priceless treasure.

"Teej..." Gretchen whispered and he flinched slightly, "Are you...are you okay?"

"I guess I'm not as strong as you guys," he whispered. And the gang fell silent. Their eyes finding something to look at, anything to study besides him. "I mean...I thought I was over it, I wanted to be over it, I wake up in the morning and think, I'm over it. The pain, it _must_ be gone now. And then..." tears fell down his cheeks, his voice losing it's steady candor, "Then I...then I forget that I'm supposed to be over it and it's three years ago all over again, and...I wish, I really wish I could handle it like you guys, but then, it's not as simple for me..."

"Simple?" Gretchen cried out, stepping forward, enraged by what she saw as childish, selfish behavior, "You act like you're the only one who's lost something that day! She was my best friend! You're so blinded by your own pain that you can't look around and see anyone else's! You think it was simple for me to deal with this? Do you honestly think it was..."

"Yeah, I do," TJ spat, pulling himself to his feet, his eyes boring into hers, "What did you lose? Huh? Honestly, what _did_ you lose? A phone call every week? Or did you forget about those, because you don't seem to miss them that much? Or, maybe a lunch every now and then! Is that what you lost? Goddamn, Gretch, you lost so much," he said bitterly, sardonically, "How can it not be simple for you, when there's _so much_ around to remind you of what you lost? But then, you don't have to wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for her, and remember. You don't come home to an empty fucking house, call out, hear no reply, and remember. You don't spend every fucking minute of your fucking time alone remembering!"

"Hey," Vince cried, stepping in, Gretchen falling back into sobs, Mikey wrapping his arms about her shoulders, trying to soothe her. "That's not called for. I know that this hurts..."

"Oh, do you?" TJ said in biting sarcasm, "Do you _really_ know how it hurts? No, you don't. You can't possibly know how much it hurts, Vince, do you know why? No? Because you didn't lose what I lost. I mean, how can you _possibly_ understand? The woman you love isn't dead. In fact, she's fine and healthy, and she's standing right over there, and just because you aren't together and you guys don't tell each other how you feel, and probably never will, doesn't change the fact that _she isn't dead_. You can never understand how I feel, Vince, because _you don't know how I feel_." TJ shook his head, his breathing nothing more than sharp gasps, "You all pushed it aside, glossed over the pain, and forgot. You never got over it, none of you ever got over the pain, you just...you just made it so she never existed, and, hey, whatever gets you through it. But I can't do that. Because I don't want her to never have existed." He raised the ring, holding it between his thumb and index finger for all of them to see, "This...this is all I have left of my marriage. Can I have that? Please?" He turned, shoulders heaving, tears breaking in a run down his cheeks. He made his way towards the kitchen door, "I want...I want you guys to leave..." he whispered, "I'm sorry." He slipped from sight into the kitchen. There came an anguished cry, a crash, and silence that cut deeper than anything he'd said that night.

"I didn't..." Gretchen started, trying to force the words out through the sobs, "I'm sorry...I know...I'm sorry..."

"Whatever, Gretchen," Vince shook his head, making his way for the door, "He doesn't want us here, let's go."

"Someone should...someone should stay with him," Gus mumbled, staring glossy eyed at the door, "We can't leave him alone."

"Then stay with him," Vince snapped, "But I'm out of here." He pushed his way out the front, followed by Gretchen's trembling form.

"What becomes of us?" Mikey questioned the empty air, "We are five remaining, lost without our missing piece to make us whole." He patted Gus on the shoulder before stepping out of the house. Gus sighed, staring at that foreboding door, the large gap that separated the gang from their leader.

"Maybe we should let him kill himself," Gus said to no one in particular, as there was no one left, "Maybe then he'll be happy, maybe then he'll be with her." He moved out the front door, as well, closing it behind him.

-0-0-

TJ stared out, no more tears falling. He couldn't make anymore. He couldn't cry anymore. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but assumed hours had passed since the gang left him. He stared at the toppled table, a broken glass, and a spill of old water seeping into the wood floor. He didn't care. The phone rang, and he frowned at it. He thought not to answer it. He hated the phone; he hated answering the phone. It rang again. Maybe it would stop. It rang again. He pulled himself up, lifted it to his ear.

"Hun," he grunted.

"Theodore..." a soft, shaking voice. TJ couldn't muster the strength to be surprised, or shocked, but that didn't mean he wasn't. So he frowned at the phone base, and replied.

"Mom."

* * *

END A/N: So TJ hasn't really moved on...he's grown rather bitter and angry, however! Man, what can his mother possibly want? I guess you'll have to wait for the next chapter to find out.

Now that you've read it, go _**REVIEW**_, so that I can know what each and every one of you thinks. Because, unfortunately, I can't read minds. Sigh...

please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

Thanks for reading...now, blast some good sad music, and go have a good cry.


	6. Thorns Without Flowers

A/N: Another long chapter!!!! YAY! man, it's late...

Thanks to the reviewers: **TNPD**, addictions are good. **Stacy**, glad you liked that last speech, and the talk with Vitto...Spin just seems like the type who's older brothers would be _very_ overprotective. **DarkAngelGuadianLight**, yes, chappies. **RavenForever**, SORRY, I don't mean to...well, yes I do, actually... **Sarah**, often times I find myself speechless as well, and then I start writting and words just come. **PureEvilOne**, yay, first time reviewer, I try, I try...

I'm ready to sleep, so....ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 5: Thorns Without Flowers

TJ slumped back to the floor, phone pressed firmly to his ear, dragging the base with him. He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Dettwieler asked, "Because you don't sound alright. Are you sleeping well, are you eating good..."

"I'm fine," he snapped, "It's just...there were plenty of times in my life that I _needed_ you to call and ask if I was alright, and suddenly you decide to call me one random night. Or did you call to tell me something happened to dad, or grandma, or something...because that would seem right, you calling, asking about my well being, just to..." he stopped, mentally berating himself for the harsh words. His mother was silent. "Why did you call?"

"Um...it's your sister, she's getting married." TJ laid his head back against the cabinets under the sink. "He's a nice boy, a good Jewish boy from what she says. He's a doctor, a resident at a nice hospital, does a great deal of community service, and he respects his mother..." TJ chewed his tongue, biting hard into it; trying to will himself to hold his mouth shut, but she sounded so excited and so happy raving about this young man.

"But _why_ did you call _me_?" he hissed. His mother fell silent again.

"I thought you might want to know," she mumbled meekly, "She's bringing him home to meet the family next Thursday night...you know, you're still a part of this family, TJ."

"Am I? Am I, really?" I muttered sarcastically, "Tell Becky...tell her...tell her I said it's about time." He hung up the phone, and buried his head, kicking the phone off the cradle. It slipped across the floor as far as the cord would allow, and the dial tone filled the empty silence.

-0-0-0-0---------------May/June 2000------------------0-0-0-0-

I slumped over my homework, staring blankly at the math equation, and glancing up at the stack of textbooks I had yet to crack open that night. I checked the clock by my bedside again, frowning. It would be twenty more minutes before my scheduled call to the Grundler household with Spinelli. We had to schedule our calls according to my parents sleeping habits, as I wasn't technically allowed to use the phone. I frowned at the paper in front of me. Maybe I could ask Gretchen for help when I called. I studied the numbers I'd written unhappily. I didn't want to cut into my time speaking with Spinelli because I couldn't figure out a stupid math problem. My parents had it arranged that I couldn't see her at school. Now I got to eat lunch with the principle every day and I had a hall monitor personally escorting me between classes. The school excused it as nothing more than wanting to avoid any distractions to the students that the new development in our relationship might cause but I knew it was a load of bull. It reeked of my parents doing.

I glanced up when I heard a car pulling into the street outside of our house. I leaned back in my chair to peek out the window, seeing a young woman step from the vehicle along with a man. I didn't recognize the guy, but I knew that woman was my sister, Becky. I went back to my homework, not incredibly delighted with the fact that my college sibling was home. Wasn't that the great part of having my older sister away at an out-of-state college? I never had to see her or meet her new boyfriend of the week? I heard the door open downstairs, excited chatter.

"Theodore!" my mother called up to me, "Theodore, you're sister just arrived, come down." It was terse, the way she addressed me. I glanced at the clock again, groaned. I wasn't going to make it to my scheduled call and something told me my parents weren't going to bed on time that night.

"I'm doing my homework," I shouted back down. I heard the sounds of someone shuffling up the stairs and saw a form step into my doorway from the corner of my eye. Did I mention my parents stole my door? Something about, ensuring I was in my room at all times and not using the phone behind their backs. I looked over, taken aback at the young man standing there grinning at me. He was tall, thin, his hair loose blonde strands. I wanted to punch his lights out just for being there. Becky came up as well, squeezing past this intruder.

"Hey," the man said, "I'm Doug. So, you're the little brother? It's nice to meet you." He moved forward, his hand outstretched. I didn't move to shake it, or even so much as acknowledge the friendly gesture.

"Yeah, he'd be the jerk I told you about," Becky confirmed, ruffling my hair. I flinched from her touch, attempting to fix what was already a mess to begin with.

"I'm doing my homework," I muttered.

"Where's your door?" Becky asked, looking about the room.

"I'm grounded."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain why your door is gone." I clenched my jaw, looking away. Obviously my parents hadn't told her what was going on.

"Well, you see, our neo-fascist parents decided to use the big brother approach to my grounding, as I apparently committed a really horrible crime this time," I snarled, tossing my pencil to my desk and leaning back in the chair.

"Hey, I know how parents can be, that's rough," Doug spoke up from the door, "Why don't you go chat with your parents, Beck, while I have a man to man with your brother?" But Becky didn't oblige, snatching my red cap from where it hung on the back of my chair, fidgeting with it.

"What's with you, T-Jerk?" she demanded, "I finally get a chance to come home after several months and I'm really excited because Doug finally gets to meet everyone and you're treating me like I've done something wrong." I didn't say anything. "What did _you_ do, anyways?" I opened my mouth, more than ready to spill the news that I personally thought deserved a nice little celebration party, but I spotted my father standing in the hallway, his arms crossed heavily over his chest.

"Why don't you three come down to the family room so we can all talk," Dad said, and the happy little couple turned to look at him in surprise.

"That sounds like a great idea," Doug exclaimed, clapping his hands together, "You're sister tells me you're a huge Señor fan," he said to me and I scowled at him. The guy looked like the type who popped out of his mother's womb full grown, dressed in a silk Gucci suit, reading the wall street journal. I could tell he was trying to get in good with me, trying to impress me, and for some reason, that really pissed me off.

"It's _Fusion_," I said, the corner of my lip twitching ever so slightly, and I had the gratifying feeling of watching that smarmy grin falter for a brief moment, "And I have to finish my homework."

"Nonsense, _son_," my father hissed, "We don't get to see your sister often. Come down, join us, your homework can wait." I glanced at the clock again. Ten minutes, and my parents hadn't even started their bedtime routine. Something told me I wasn't going to be very pleasant during this visit, and that I was really not going to like this Doug guy. He was not a decent conversation replacement for Spinelli. I got up, snatching my hat back from Becky, and followed them out the door.

We gathered in the living room. My father took a seat in his reclining chair, my mother taking her place standing beside him. The happy couple, Becky and Doug, sat cuddled on the couch, and I took a post leaning against the wall as close to the hallway as I could get while still being considered within the room.

"So," my mother started, "Do you two go to the same college, Doug? I mean, how did you meet?"

"Ah, yes. Becky walked into the wrong class one day, a class I was in, and from that moment, when I first laid eyes on her, I was smitten," Doug explained, and I snorted lightly. Everyone turned frowning faces my direction. "Are you alright?" Doug asked me, a little stiffly.

"Fine," I muttered, glancing at the grandfather clock stationed behind my dad. Eight minutes.

"Um...so, what are you majoring in?" my father took up role of inquisitor.

"Business," Doug chuckled, "It's really fascinating, actually, and it's a very lucrative career." I shifted, folding my arms across my chest. "So you won't have to worry, if I ever have the luck of marrying your beautiful daughter, she'll be very well taken care of." He kissed Becky's forehead and she giggled, pushing him playfully and blushing furiously.

"Oh stop," she teased, "Don't let him fool you, we haven't even talked about marriage yet."

"And why not?" my mother demanded. And I felt a pang of heartache.

"Well, it's a little early in the relationship..." Becky chuckled.

"It's never too early to talk about marriage when you're as in love as I am with you," Doug commented.

"So it's love, then?" my mother inquired, trying to steady the sparkling joy bubbling in her voice. I glanced to the clock once more. Three minutes.

"Of course it's love," Doug confirmed, and the gleeful twosome pressed their lips together in the most impassionate kiss I'd ever witnessed. I snorted again, a bit louder. Doug turned to me, trying to maintain that fake glowing grin.

"What?" I demanded, not intending to sound as harsh and cold as I did.

"I'm sorry, but, do you have a problem with me?" he retorted, Brady Bunch anger edging in his voice, "Because I've only been nice to you, so if you have a problem..."

"I'm just a little tired of listening to all this..."

"So, what's new around here?" Becky interrupted, and my mother quickly caught on to the topic change.

"Oh, nothing much..." she answered, "My brownies were once again a smash hit at the Annual Flower Club bake sale. Oh, your father is looking at a promotion." I shook my head, looking up at the clock, and feeling this almost snap inside of me, noticing that the scheduled time had come and gone and hearing my mother say, "A wedding would be beautiful, Becky. Now, I know you're still in college and worrying about your future, but to be honest, when you're in love you're in love."

"You're not gonna tell her, are you?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck, looking out at them with a pained glare.

"Tell her what?" my mother feigned naivety, "I honestly don't know what you're talking about." I pushed myself away from the wall.

"I'm out of here, I've had my fill of bullshit for the night," I spat, trying to will myself to turn and leave, but staying planted where I was, unable to keep my mouth shut, unable to hold in those awful accusation, "Do you honestly think that if you don't talk about it, that if you don't tell her about it, or anyone for that matter, it'll make it as if it never happened?"

"What's he talking about?" Becky demanded, shooting me a dangerous look.

"Apologize to your mother," my father growled, "And your sister, and her date. Right now, young man."

"No," I had never spoken back to my father like that. I was a cheeky kid, but I knew the boundaries of respect, and I knew I had just crossed those boundaries. My father was on his feet, and I could see Doug blanch. I couldn't help but smirk at that, the idea that this man found my father scary. He needed to meet Bob Spinelli and the Spinelli boys, now they could strike fear in a prospective bachelor's heart.

"Do not think for one minute..." he began.

"What? You asked me to come down here and participate in this little family get together, and I did. I'm sorry if I just can't stand listening to all this crap you're spewing. You're such hypocrites," I spat, "You think you can erase it. You can't. Sooner or later, everyone's going to know, and everyone has to know, because it happened, it's done."

"_What_ is he _talking_ about?" Becky cried in exasperation, on her feet.

"I'm sorry, sis, maybe I should let you in on the little joke," I said, turning my attention to her, "You see, our parents, want you to get married regardless of whatever consequences it may reign on your future, because you're in love, right? So it's okay. But when it comes to me, our parents have a completely warped view. See, me, getting married, ruins my future and it doesn't matter how much I love the girl, and regardless of the fact that we did it all for the right reasons, it was still a big mistake that will mar my life forever, unless that is, I let our wonderful parents get it annulled." I could see the gears turning in her head as she slowly started to comprehend what I was saying, but I wasn't interested in seeing if she finally put two and two together as I turned to head for the door.

"Theodore Jerome Dettwieler," my mother snarled and I froze dead in my tracks. Your full name is like a magic phrase that can fill you with this immense and overwhelming feeling of dread, especially when it comes from your mother, "You do not, for one instant, treat any person in this household with that kind of disrespect. And, you do not, for any selfish reason you may have, act with that attitude and total disregard of manners towards a guest in this house. You were raised better then that."

"I'm eighteen, mom," I retorted, "I'm an adult. You can't tell me what to do anymore." My father grabbed my arm, jerking me around to face him.

"You're so eager to be an adult? So eager to make adult decisions like marriage? Then maybe you should do the adult thing and get the heck out of my house," he shouted. I shook my head at him, pulling from his grasp, slipping my cap on and heading to the door.

"You know," I began, stopping, my hand resting on the brass knob, "You make all these speeches about how you care about my future, and you don't want me to ruin my future, and that this whole 'ordeal' is going to do just that. But you're so full of shit. You're right, dad, I'll do the _adult_ thing. I'll drop out of high school, start working full-time, and buy a run down apartment. Because apparently that's not a screwed up future compared to the one I already have laid out." I flung the door open.

"Where do you think you're going?" my mother demanded, her voice a high-pitched screech.

"To the only person who apparently gives a fuck about my future. You know, my wife, Spinelli," I slammed the door shut behind me and tore down the street.

Gretchen only lived a few blocks away and I think I hit a record time, reaching the Grundler driveway in under two minutes. I was surprised to find Spinelli sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a heavy wool-knit sweater and oversized jeans. She stood, making her way towards me, when I arrived, slowing my pace to a walk, working at composing my heavy breathing. I stopped at the edge of the lawn.

"I got worried, when you didn't call," she explained as to why she was sitting on the porch, "I was considering going to your house...what's wrong?" I shook my head, trying to ignore the ache in my chest, the tears welling in my eyes, that torn feeling between pain from the argument with my parents and joy from having Spinelli standing right in front of me for the first time in nearly two weeks. I buried my face in her shoulder, and she wrapped an arm around my neck.

"Teej...you're trembling," she whispered, her voice cracking with fear and uncertainty.

"I don't know if I can handle this any longer," I breathed against the bare skin of her neck, taking her hands with my own and reveling in her scent, "I don't know if I can handle being away from you like this any longer. I know I couldn't keep handling my parents dancing around this and covering it up. Treating it like this dirty secret, like we'd committed murder or some horrible sin. God, Spin, I need you."

"You have me, Teej," she said softly, her warm words caressing my ear, "I belong to you. All of me, I'm yours, and there's nothing they can do about that." I pulled back, our eyes connecting, "Even if they can hide this, even if they can separate us, and keep us apart. Even if they could make this go away, erase it, or if they could send us to opposite ends of the globe, it wouldn't matter," she smiled, pulling away from my clasp and throwing out her arms wide, twirling, and crying into the empty air and down the sleeping streets, "Because I am the property of Theodore Jerome Dettweiler, and there is nothing anyone can do about it!" I grinned.

"How is it possible that I love you more when I thought my love for you was already endless?" She faced me once more and strung her arms over my shoulders, around my neck, having to stand on her tiptoes to draw me into a kiss, and I willingly obliged her, slipping my own arms around her puffy sweater engulfed waist.

That night, for the first time since our wedding night, I slept beside Spinelli. We took up occupancy on the Grundler couch, my arms wrapped about her. I couldn't remember when I'd had a more peaceful sleep. Gretchen woke us up early in the morning, pushing me out the front door.

"If my parents caught you two..." she'd scolded, her nostrils flaring, her eyes lit with anger. Spinelli pressed her leather jacket in my hands, a hand-me-down from her older brother Joey before he'd taken off on his cross-country motorcycle trip.

"It's cold out," she'd explained, kissing me gently, "I don't know when I'll see you again..." I pulled her close to me, kissing her forehead.

"Today," I told her, "I have a plan."

-0-0-

I had a lot of experience sneaking in and out of my room through my window. I had gotten fairly skilled at climbing to the roof of my house having had a great deal of practice in my eighteen years of life. It didn't take me long to swing up from the small tree at the side of the house onto the roof and crawl to my window, lifting it up. I was surprised, to say the least, to find my sister sitting on my bed. She frowned at me, obviously not approving of my approach to getting in the house.

"It's not like mom and dad locked you out," she commented, "I mean, they actually spent most of the night waiting for you to come home. I could hear them down there, practicing the 'good talking to' they were going to give you."

"Which is why I didn't use the front door, which is why I won't use the front door when I go for school," I replied, making my way to my closet and shuffling through my clothes in search of a clean shirt. I threw the leather jacket to the bed and noticed that Becky was holding a crisp white sheet of paper in her hand. I frowned, "You went through my things?"

"It wasn't like it was well hidden, it was just stuffed between your comic books. Doug found it, he was looking through them," she muttered. I scowled at the thought of that guy getting his greasy fingers on my precious collection, "I don't understand why you're doing this; why you did this. Is Spinelli in trouble?"

"Why does everybody jump to that conclusion?" I snapped, "No, she's not in trouble. No, there's no possible way she is in trouble and is just keeping it from me. If you really must know," I snatched the letter from Becky's hands, "I'm the one who asked her to marry me and it has nothing to do with anything except for our love."

"But, TJ, do you have any idea what that letter means?" Becky demanded, up on her feet.

"Yeah, it means that I can take Spinelli and get the hell out of this god forsaken town, away from our parents with their fucked up ideals and screwy plans for our futures that we want no part of," I answered, ripping a shirt from it's hanger and heading towards my bathroom. The toilet flushed inside and the door swung open, Doug standing there staring down at me. The slick smile across his lips faded. He wasn't exactly fully clothed and I closed my eyes.

"If I find a used condom in there..."

"You'll what?" Doug whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, just soft enough for Becky not to. After the night before, all pleasantries between us were gone. Not that there were any on my part to begin with. "Hit me?"

"No," I said, pushing my way past, "But I'll introduce you to my wife, and she'll hit you." I shut the door behind me.

"TJ," Becky called, "We're not done talking." I changed quickly, washed my face and brushed my teeth, ignoring her. "Fine, I'll talk and you can listen. Mom and dad are right, you should get it annulled." I swished some mouthwash; spat it out in the sink. Peeked in the trashcan, relieved to find nothing, and then eyed the toilet miserably. Doug wouldn't be that cruel, would he?

"Beck, let's go back to bed," I heard Doug whimper, "Leave the kid alone."

"Go by yourself," came the snapped reply from my sister, "TJ," she was back to talking to me, "What do you plan on doing? Going to a college out of state, dragging Spinelli along. Where are you going to live?"

"The dorm," I replied, swinging the door open and shoving my way out.

"And where's Spinelli going to live?"

"With me, in the dorms. They have rooms for married couples," I explained peevishly. I'd never even planned on telling anyone outside the gang about our plans until after graduation, when everything was set in place, and I'd already know which college I was accepted in and going to.

"Really? And what college is going to let a young woman live in the dorms that isn't attending classes at the school? Because that's how it works. You both have to attend the college. I can't think of any that don't follow that policy."

"I know of three," I argued, "I've spoken to them on the phone, and I'm applying to them."

"Three? TJ, can you imagine how limited those schools will be? What do you plan on majoring in?"

"I haven't decided, maybe _business_." That was meant to be a jab at Doug, and she caught it, wincing.

"Have you thought about Spinelli?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" I demanded, "All I've been thinking of is Spinelli."

"I'm just saying, TJ, what about her? Maybe she's not exactly ecstatic with this whole idea. She'd have a chance of furthering her education at the community college here, but if she goes with you...there's no way she could get into an out-of-state college, no matter how low scale it is," Becky shook her head, "You're being selfish TJ. I know the grades Spinellis pull, I went to school with Vitto remember? He was lucky he graduated, he ditched most of the year."

"I know I'm being selfish, but I also know that Spinelli wants this," I muttered, tossing my books into my backpack and glancing over my unfinished schoolwork. If I hurried, I could get to the school early enough to finish. "Why do you care so much about all of this, anyways? Why's it any of your business?"

"Because you're my little brother..."

"Then you should be happy for me," I spun on her.

"Because I'm supposed to be first. Because it's not fair," she spat, "I'm supposed to be married first. You're just a kid, you little jerk, you're not even supposed to know what love is yet. You're not supposed to be interested in getting married and tied down. You're mind should be on whatever hot little number with legs walks by and looks like she's interested or drunk enough to sleep with you. You're mind's supposed to be on getting wasted and partying the night away, not spending nights sleeping next to the same girl for the rest of your life. What am I going to tell my friends at school? I get a slime ball frat boy slobbering on my neck, and my brat brother's already married, even though he's still in high school. I'm supposed to be first, TJ. I started dating before you even knew how to tie your own damn shoes and..."

"You know what, Becky? Maybe if you weren't such a bitter bitch you'd have someone who treated you with respect, and you wouldn't have to be jealous of your little brother's relationship," I snarled, flinging my backpack over my shoulder before climbing out the window and jumping to the ground below. I was getting pretty good at running as I sprinted to the school.

-0-0-

My escort was a burly hall monitor, a woman that went by the name Shirley. She was almost six-feet tall, her hair falling in thick red-knotted curls around her pug face. She would follow me like a bulldog set on a smaller animal, hounding me from class to class, prodding me if I took my time or paused because I, or at least thought I glanced Spinelli in the hallway. She'd wait outside my classroom, impatiently, constantly peeking in the door, as though making sure I hadn't somehow disappeared in mid-air. I would wave cheekily at her whenever she peeked in and she would scowl at me rather unpleasantly. I like to think that I'm starting to soften her up.

In order to see Spinelli, I had to get around that bulky woman, which was not an easy task. She never took breaks, never used the restroom. Legend had it that she used to work as a prison warden, until she was fired for being too rough on the inmates. Her eyes were always on me, which, of course, was creepy in itself.

My plan was simple, only made complex by its dependency on timing. It involved me giving Shirley the slip, and it would take the entire gangs help. I'd left the plan with Gretchen, who passed it on to the others. Now, on my way between third and fourth period, Shirley and I always pass the bathrooms. It's the quickest most efficient route between those rooms,, according to Shirley, not to mention, it's extremely out of Spinelli's way. As I saw the bathrooms come into sight, I caught a glimpse of Vince by the lockers, speaking with Mikey. He shot me thumbs up, a cue that everything was in place.

"I have to use the restroom," I said, without hesitation. Shirley stopped, turning an angry glare on me.

"We don't have time," she snarled.

"I _really_ have to go," I assured her, dancing from one foot to the other for good measure. Shirley sighed, glancing to the bathrooms, then shrugged.

"Alright, let's go," she said, leading me to the bathroom, opening the door and making to come in with me.

"What are you doing? You can't watch me," I protested, "You're not allowed in the boys' restroom." Her upper lip curled in anger.

"Fine," she growled, "I'll be waiting outside." I sighed with relief when the door finally shut behind me and I was alone. I strained my ears, listening as Mikey's voice came in.

"I'm sorry," he was apologizing, "I didn't mean to run into you..." I heard hacking coughs and cracked the door slightly to peek out, seeing Gus on his knees, clutching his chest and making a fit. Shirley stepped forward to help Mikey compose the boy.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, patting Gus's back, only seeming to succeed in making it worse. With her full attention on Gus, I opened the bathroom door, slowly slipping out and Gretchen practically shoved me into the girl's room.

"You have two minutes tops," she told me before shutting the door and positioning herself as guard. I glimpsed around the girls' room, never having actually been in one. Spinelli was leaning against the sinks, her eyes staring at the tiles. I scanned the room, double checking that we were, indeed, alone. I stepped forward.

"Spinelli?" She looked up, turned to me. Something was wrong, and I felt my heart jump to my throat. She wasn't looking directly at me, wasn't meeting my eyes. I moved to touch her, and she pulled away, walking to the far side of the bathroom. That morning she'd been fine. Something had happened. "What's wrong?" I asked, studying her carefully.

"Maybe...maybe..." she whispered, her voice shaking, "Maybe we should...maybe we should get it annulled..."

"What?" I narrowed my eyes at her, surprised by the pain that erupted in my chest.

"Nobody...no one wants us together..." she slumped against the wall, "They're going to great lengths to keep us apart...and...to make us feel like we'd made the wrong choice. I have girls I don't even know, that I've never seen before coming up to me and calling me a slut or something equally demeaning. My parents won't even acknowledge my existence...I can't live at the Grundler house forever and..."

"So what you're saying is it's not worth it? That our love, that our being together isn't enough to put up with this for a few more weeks."

"No! That's not what I'm saying...I'm saying...I just think, I've been thinking...maybe...maybe we should get it annulled and wait. We can wait; we love each other, Teej. I can wait for you here and you can go to a great college and...and...get a great education and a good job, any job you want and...I can wait...and..."

"Spin, what do you want?" I demanded.

"I think that..."

"No," I snapped, coming close to her, close enough to hear her shaking, to see her tears dropping from her chin. "What _do you_ _want_? Look me in the eyes, Spinelli, and tell me what _you_ want."

"Teej..." she mumbled, falling silent. She looked up slowly, her eyes meeting my own, those deep dark orbs that I never grew tired of looking into, that were so filled with pain and misery and something...something else that I couldn't read, that I couldn't understand, "I want it annulled," she whispered. I nodded, turning from her, kicked one of the stall doors in my frustration, and made my way to the exit. I didn't care what Shirley thought when I came out and walked by her towards my classroom. I heard Gus stop with the fake choking, and knew that everyone in the hall was following me with their eyes. I didn't care.

-0-0-

I walked outside of the school building following the flow of the students forcing their ways out to the freedom only offered by the end of the academic day. I made my way over to where my mother waited for me, somewhat surprised that she'd come at all, and slightly dissapointed.

"TJ!" I heard a voice call, turning to glance over my shoulder. It was Gretchen, running to catch up; she stopped in front of my mother and me out of breath. "Hello, Mrs. Dettwieler. Do you mind if I steal him for a moment, as it is imperative that I discuss a particular math problem with him that he'd inquired about? I just want to ensure that he understood the mechanics of it." My mother frowned, not impressed by the story, but nodded all the same. I let Gretchen drag me a little ways, out of my mother's hearing range.

"What?" I hissed, glancing in my mother's direction, "I never asked you about a math problem..."

"What happened in that restroom? Because Spinelli ditched the rest of school, and she looked like...well, for lack of a better term, _hell_!" I looked away. It wasn't something I wanted to be reminded of.

"Spinelli...she wants it annulled," I mumbled.

"_What_?" Needless to say, Gretchen was utterly shocked.

"That's what she said," I spat, "That she wanted to give up, that she couldn't take it anymore. She wants it annulled."

"Oh no..." Gretchen moaned, "Becky!"

"_What_?" it was my turn to be shocked.

"This morning...Becky came over and requested conference with Spinelli...I didn't think anything of it...I...and Spinelli said that it would be alright..." I shook my head, not certain how to exert the rage boiling in my system. "Was it good that I told you?" Gretchen asked, noting the look that crossed my face. I nodded, giving her a quick peck on the forehead.

"Yes, it's very good that you told me," I said, "I have to go." I turned, leaving Gretchen who stood watching me awkwardly. I sat in silence next to my mother in the car as she drove. She glanced at me every so often, but it was evident she didn't want to yell at me when my father wasn't present. It was odd, my mother having nothing to say. When we reached the house I didn't even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before I exited, throwing the front door open. I'd had plenty of time to let my emotions fester, sorting out exactly what needed to be said to Becky, of course, none of those things would be said as I _was_ blinded by my anger. I found her in the living room; she was on the couch making out with her boyfriend.

"We need to talk," I sneered, and the couple fell apart, shame faced at being caught in the compromising position.

"TJ?" Becky gasped, but Doug was on his feet already.

"Who do you think you are?" I yelled, my eyes focused entirely on my sister. "What did you tell her?"

"I think you should get lost, kid," Doug spat, "You're causing your sister a great deal of stress and..."

"What are you talking about?" Becky stuttered to me, shocked and obviously embarrassed, disregarding Doug all together.

"Spinelli. What did you say to her?"

"TJ, what is going on?" my mother demanded, then, looking about the room, "I think you owe your sister an apology."

"No, mom, she owes me an apology, and an explanation while she's at it," I roared. I was tired of this hypocrisy. Becky's allowed to say what she wants, but if I defend myself I owe her an apology? "What did you say to Spinelli?"

"The truth," she snapped, "I told her the truth. I told her how I felt about this, how everyone felt about this, and...to be honest, I told her why you were really doing it."

"What does she mean?" my mother interrupted, "What do you mean, Becky?"

"It's all about some stupid scholarship," she went on bitterly, "He got this scholarship for any college he wants to go to. Except there's a catch, if he tells you guys about it, he gets sent to a big out-of-state college, sent away from his girlfriend. That's why he married her, so that he could take her along."

"Is that true, TJ?" my mother reeled on me, "TJ, is that _true_?"

"You also tell her how jealous you are of her, Becky?" I whispered roughly, trying to fight that anger rushing through my blood. I was afraid of what the anger was causing me to think, the violent urges that it was pumping through my heart, "How much you envy her? Because she can love, because she's with someone who loves her? Did you tell her that?"

"You don't know anything about..."

"And you don't know anything about why I married her. You know, she used to look up to you. She thought of you as the older sister she never had, because you were so nice to her and treated her like you two were sisters," I turned, pushing my way up to the stairs, to my room, "Stay away from me, Becky, and stay the fuck away from my wife."

-0-0-

I locked myself in my bathroom, the only sanctuary I had left in that house. My father came up, banged on it awhile, yelled until his voice grew hoarse, then left. I slept in there, sitting against the door, and woke up the next morning stiff necked. I left the house before anyone else was awake, stumbled to the school with my backpack and took up residency on the front steps working on finishing my homework. I waited, as I knew Gretchen would be there as early as possible with Spinelli in tow. But when I saw my bespectacled friend, I noticed that my wife was not, in fact, with her.

"Where's Spin?" I asked, as soon as Gretchen was near enough. Other students were gathering around, and I faintly heard the first bell ring.

"She was gone when I woke up," Gretchen answered with a shrug for emphasis. She helped me to my feet and we entered the school together. "I'll look for her," Gretchen said, standing beside her homeroom class, "I tried talking to her last night...but...she just...she locked herself in the bathroom and she wouldn't come out..." I nodded, saying my goodbyes and frowning as Shirley made her way over to me, prodding me to my own class. I made it through three periods before I couldn't take it anymore. I excused myself to the restroom, and Shirley, knowing that Spinelli wasn't present at school that day, waited as I slipped into the bathroom.

"Hey TJ," a boy I knew greeted and I nodded his direction, before pulling myself up on one of the sinks and flinging open the nearest window. "What are you doing?"

"Keep it down, will ya'?" I told him, squeezing my backpack out the window and hearing it plop to the ground with a heavy thud. I then pulled myself through as the few boys in the restroom watched in awe.

"How did he..." I heard one boy start.

"Don't you know anything? That's TJ Dettwieler," I heard another interrupt the first.

"Whoa, really? I thought he was just some made up guy...that's really him?" And that was the last I heard as I fell to the ground outside and scanned the area while dusting myself off. It wasn't that hard to just leave after that, as it wasn't like the gates were locked or anything.

I made my way down the street, no one stopping me or paying me any mind. I found myself at Third Street Elementary, staring in at the playground. I don't know why I'd come there. It had been almost a sub-conscious act.

I'd had so many great times on that playground. I strained my eyes. There was someone on the swings, the silhouette of a figure I could recognize even if I was half blind. I squeezed my way through the gates, ditching my backpack and walking over towards the jungle gym, with the swing set attached. Spinelli sat with her back to me, wavering in the swing, but never actually kicking into the air.

"Hey," she greeted dully, not bothering to turn, as always, she somehow just knew it was me, "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"Aren't you?" I retorted lightly, "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"

"You mad at me?"

"No. I'm mad at Becky," I muttered, "What she said...it wasn't...Spin..." The bell rang, and the doors of the school flung open, kids pouring out. "It's recess," I knew, without even having to look up at the clock. I recognized the rush, the laughter, and the excitement crossing the faces of those children. I'd been one of them once, "We should go."

"Do you remember..." she started, with no intention of leaving the swing, despite the odd glances we received from the many children surrounding us as they went to play, "When we were in kindergarten...and the Ashleys caught us holding hands? It was a misunderstanding, of course, you were just helping me up off the ground but...but they said that we had to get married because of it. We didn't know, then, what conniving little liars the Ashleys really were...so...we believed them. And they set up this whole...this whole ceremony type thing...and they made me wrap this stupid white sheet around myself and they tied a ribbon around your neck, 'cause they said that's how you're supposed to dress for getting married. It went smoothly at first, remember, but then it all went downhill when they got to the part where they said we had to kiss, and you and the guys went running off in one direction and me and the girls took off in the other." I smirked.

"I can't believe you still remember that."

"Of course I do. That was the day I decided you were the one I was going to marry," I could hear the smile in her voice, but I could hear the tears as well.

"We were five," I commented, a little taken aback.

"I know," she said, "And I didn't really know what marriage was then, I just thought it was a little party you had with some boy you liked and that you got to wear this big frilly dress and hold hands and you just told each other you liked one another and ate a cake. That's why I decided it had to be you, because I didn't mind you, and your hand wasn't so bad to touch. I figured you didn't have cooties." I stepped forward, closer, touching the long chain that held the swing up. "Do you know why I said yes?" I was silent. "It wasn't because of some elaborate plan to keep us together despite the fact you were going away to college and I had no where to go. No, that wasn't it at all. It was because you were on your knee saying the four words I waited my entire life for you to say." She turned then, meeting my eyes and they were so clear and perfect. "To hell with our parents, Teej, to hell with your sister, to hell with everyone at school, to hell with everyone else in the world. I've waited long enough."

"It was never about the scholarship, Spinelli, we were getting married either way," I told her, kneeling to eye-level with her, "You know, that I love you. At first, I was afraid of losing you when I had to go away to college so I had this idea in my head...but the more I thought about it and the more I developed this plan...the more I realized that the scholarship was just an excuse, just my excuse to ask you, almost like insurance. It was never the real reason, though Spin, I asked you because I wanted to. I won't get it annulled, Spinelli, I won't let them erase the one thing in my life that I've ever really cared about. That I've ever really wanted."

"Miss Finster," I heard a little boy cry in the distance, "They aren't supposed to be on the playground!" I brushed the tears from Spinelli's eyes, glancing up to see the elderly hunch of a woman making her way over; scowling at us. She hadn't changed much.

"I'm sorry," Spinelli whispered, "I just...the things Becky said..."

"Just tell me what you really want," I whispered, pushing the hair from her face, "Just look me in the eyes and tell me what you really _want_." She looked up, meeting my gaze.

"What are you two hooligans doing over there? You little delinquents..." Miss Finster was yelling, almost upon us.

"You," Spinelli whispered, and a grin spread across my face.

"Good answer," I said, pulling her towards me into a kiss. I saw, from the corner of my eye Miss Finster stop dead in her tracks gaping at us, and the kids stopped playing. Laughter, noise, screaming, everything around us stopped. And I pulled Spinelli closer. Someone tapped my shoulder, and I pulled away, begrudgingly from Spinelli, looking into the face of my former Principle.

"Principle Prickly, sir, how are you?" I asked cheekily, grinning up at him. He squinted his eyes at me, adjusting his glasses, before glancing up at Miss Finster, almost looking for confirmation. The old gal was staring down at Spinelli and myself with narrowed slits of eyes as well.

"Dettwieler...?" Prickly questioned.

"...And...little Miss Spinelli," Finster let her upper lip curl into a smirk.

"And I thought I was rid of you..." Prickly shook his head, before glancing about a yelling, "What are you kids gaping at? Get back to playing!" The students broke into runs, turning away and returning to what they'd been doing.

"Actually, Miss Finster," Spinelli said, grinning at me, "It's Mrs. Dettwieler now." I don't think it truly hit us until that moment what we'd done those several days ago, but I didn't mind that feeling pounding in my chest, and I sure as hell didn't mind those stunned looks that crossed our former teachers faces.

"Congratulations," Prickly patted my shoulder heartily; "It took you two long enough."

"It's about time," Miss Finster commented, and tears began to spill down Spinelli's cheeks. And I understood her feelings, her happiness, because here were two people who knew, who didn't question, didn't criticize, that just knew the reasons behind what we'd done.

-0-0-0-0------------------Present Time-----------------0-0-0-0-

Gretchen walked into the lobby, removing her white coat, and wiping her damp forehead. She'd already been at the hospital for eight hours without break; it had been another rough night. She leaned over the front counter to peer at the assistant on duty.

"Are there any calls for me?"

"No, Dr. Grundler," the young woman answered politely. Gretchen scrunched her face, felt her heart nearly jump. It was Wednesday. "Why? Are you expecting a call, because I can..."

"No," Gretchen stuttered, "I'm not. I'm not expecting any calls...thank you..." She barely made it to her office, slumping against her closed door and crumpling on the floor, bursting into tears. She looked to her desk, pictures adorning it of her family, of Vince, Gus, Mikey, and TJ. Then the phone, sitting there, still and silent. And she felt like she was suffocating in her own office.

-0-0-

Mikey slipped into his trailer on the movie set, smiling at the young woman waiting for him. He didn't feel like smiling. She came to him, pressed a deep kiss to his lips that he accepted and returned passionately. He didn't want to kiss her. He helped himself to a beer and followed her to the table she had been sitting at when he'd arrived. He didn't want to follow her. They took seats at opposite ends of the table and she pushed over the little tray, with a razor and white powder atop it, and he pushed the powder together in a neat line. He didn't want to touch it.

"What's the matter, Michael," the woman asked, he couldn't quite recall her name. He'd only met her the night before. He didn't want to recall her name.

Mikey shook his head, lowered himself and in one quick intake of breath, the powder was gone. The world spun, it all seemed like a big joke, everything, he burst into laughter, and he looked to the wall, to the far side of his trailer. There was a picture of a beautiful young woman with dark hair and darker eyes, whose name he couldn't recall at that moment either. But it wasn't because he didn't want to. He really wanted to, found himself struggling to. _You big lummox_. She was frowning at him, scolding him, scowling at him, disapproving of him. But who was she?

The world melted before Mikey's eyes in a rush of colors. Why wasn't he feeling the way he should? Why was his face wet? Why were his eyes leaking? Why couldn't he smile? Who was that woman? She was important to him, that much he could figure, but everything was a haze, his eyes were clouded. The world went dark, and a woman was screaming, but not the woman whose name he wanted to remember. No, it was the other one. The one he didn't want to recall. Because she was a part of that life. The life he didn't want.

-0-0-

Gus stood at attention in front of his commanding officer and attempted to glance unnoticed to the obstacle course he was supposed to run through that day.

"Private Griswold," the officer snapped and Gus straightened, "Since you seem so interested in the Crawl, why don't you impress us all by giving us the first run through of the day."

"Sir, with pleasure, sir," Gus accepted, attempting to run with exuberance towards the great wooden structure otherwise known as the Crawl. He scaled the wall with ease, finding himself at the top of the great tower within an instant, crawling his way through nets, maneuvering his way around holes in the floor, and finding himself at the small tunnel where he would be expected to shimmy over a small break in the wood, and shuffle through to the other side, and he would then begin his descent. He halted, staring into the void of darkness and gulped. He tried to will himself through, felt the sweat trickle down his forehead to his chin.

"What's wrong with me?" Gus muttered beneath his breath. He'd never had trouble with the Crawl before, in fact, he held a record time at defeating the gigantic obstacle course. Gus frowned at that deep hole, shuffling forward slightly, and stopping. He felt something worming from out of his breast pocket, and raised his hand to catch the object too late. He watched it, a shining gold circle, its clasp opening mid-air, falling through the catch net to the ground below and shattering on the hard blacktop. He knew what it was, without having to look down and see the broken pieces, he knew what it was. He fell through that gap in the wood, wanting to slip through the net and shatter on the ground below as well. He didn't mind the locket breaking so much as the picture that had occupied it blowing away in the wind. Like the person the picture was of, just disappearing into the horizon.

When Gus's fellow soldiers managed to pull him from the catch net, he was in tears, bawling like a child, hunched within himself. He slumped to the ground, gathering the pieces of the locket while the other soldiers watched in gaping awe, uncertain what to do. Even the commanding officer was silent.

"I'm sorry..." he was whispering, "I'm sorry..."

-0-0-

Vince tossed his glove into the tall locker designated as his before slamming it shut. He watched, from the corner of his eye, several of his teammates leaving. They waved goodbye to him and he nodded in acknowledgement. There was a pat on his shoulder and he glanced over to find the Coach glowering wryly at him.

"We need to talk, LaSalle, about your performance these past couple days," Coach said.

"Sure thing, Coach," Vince straightened, slipping his jacket up onto his shoulders.

"I've been disappointed lately in you. I've never seen you so out of focus, so...let's just say, I've come to expect better of my star pitcher." Vince scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

"Sorry, there's just...a lot's been going on..." he started to explain.

"Hey, LaSalle," one of the teammates called into the locker room, "There's some woman out here asking for you...says she needs to see you. She looks really upset."

"Who is it?" Vince asked, buttoning up his jacket.

"I don't know, she isn't really saying much. She's a real hot red-head though..." Vince felt his heart skip a beat.

"I'm sorry, Coach, I've got to deal with this. I'm working on it, though, I promise...I just...there's been a lot going on and...I'll try not to take it to the field with me anymore," Vince was out of the locker room in a minute, finding Gretchen leaning against the wall outside of the exit door. She looked so fragile, her face splotchy red, and she appeared to have been crying. They're eyes met and she burst into tears. Without hesitation, she was in his arms.

"He's right...Vince...he's right..." she sobbed, "I'm so sorry...it's just...it's Wednesday and Spinelli was supposed to call, but she can't call, because she's dead..." Vince lifted Gretchen into his arms, carrying her into the locker room and setting her on the bench. He knelt in front of her, pushing the hair from her face.

"Hey, LaSalle, what'd you do to the girl?" one of the remaining teammates in the locker room asked, "Don't worry, little lass, he may seem like a big bad wolf, but he's a puppy dog at heart." Vince ignored the man, concentrating entirely on Gretchen.

"Gretch, what's really wrong?" Vince whispered.

"He's right," she choked out, "I pushed her out of my mind, I made it so she didn't exist. I didn't want to deal with the pain...I didn't want it to have happened...I didn't...I wanted to move on, to get back to my life...I'm sorry...so I erased her...I...I...I forgot about her. I just wanted it to be over...how can I call myself her best friend...god...I...I put all her pictures away, took them all down, because I can't look at them anymore...because then I remember that she was here, that she existed, that she was in my life and that I loved her and that she was my best friend...and I don't want to remember all those things, I don't want to remember that she's dead and that she's gone and that...I pushed her aside, I painted over her with my pretty new life..."

"Gretch..."

"I'm a bad friend, Vince...I'm a horrible friend. My best friend died and I erase her...I didn't grieve as long as I should have...I should have been sadder...I shouldn't be happy...I should never be happy...I can't even face her pictures anymore, or the memories I have of her..." Gretchen buried herself in Vince's shoulder. He rubbed her back soothingly, wrapping his other hand around a golden pin casually shoved in his pocket. He didn't wear it anymore. Not to his games...not to practice...never.

_The big leagues...that's something else...try not to screw up. I doubt I will, so long as you come to all my games. Well...just in case I can't make it to one, here. What's this? My substitute...if I can't be at the game, you'll still have this...I don't know, it sounds corny...but I guess it'll remind you that I'm out there rootin' for ya', so don't screw up. _

"We both pushed her out of our lives, Gretch," Vince admitted, sighing haggardly, "We weren't bad friends, _you_ aren't a bad friend, we just...we were scared. We weren't sure we could...I don't know...go on without her. She was the brave one, and for once in our lives, we had to be brave without her. Maybe...maybe...we thought if we had never needed her before, we wouldn't need her now. And TJ, he was always the strong one, and suddenly we had to be strong for him and...god, Gretch, we were really bad at it."

"TJ was right..." Gretchen sniffled.

"He's always right," Vince told her, tightening the embrace, "I guess that's one of the things we love about him."

-0-0-

TJ woke up in the middle of the night, staring up at the ceiling of his living room. He slept on the couch every night as he refused to sleep in his bed. It felt too big, too cold, too alone. He frowned at that ceiling trying to figure out what exactly had woken him up. There was a knock on the door, and suddenly he remembered. He stumbled through the darkness towards the entranceway, thoughts of several curse words he could impart on his late-night visitor rushing through his head. He swung the door open and was startled to find the gang standing before him. Well...not the entire gang.

"Mikey's in the hospital," Vince explained, "We thought you'd want to know. He's okay, just...it was a drug overdose."

"Oh," TJ mumbled. What were you supposed to say to that kind of news?

"We can't go see him," Vince continued, "Because his publicist is trying to keep this as...well..."

"They don't want anyone to know about it," Gus interrupted, the words harsh and frustrated, "We're his best friends, and we're not allowed to see him..."

"We are...still...best friends, right?" Gretchen inquired, standing silent and still. They all looked so ghostly in the moonlight.

"Yeah," TJ muttered. He couldn't find the strength to say anything else. He reached forward, pulling Gretchen into a hug, brushing a quick kiss against her cheek. He accepted embraces from Gus and then Vince next. They stood there in silence after that, each one afraid to talk. Each one knowing what the others felt, like they'd almost lost another piece of their whole that night.

* * *

END A/N: hm...damn Mikey, what's wrong with him? I didn't want to be too descriptive with the drug scene, so, does everyone approve of how I wrote it?

Ya'll better **_REVIEW_** this, each and everyone of you that read, 'cause I'm going to class dead tired tomorrow morning for you guys. Just tell me what you think, a little blurb is all I ask.

I feel like I forgot something...awww heck, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

THANKS for READING, and I'll see ya'll around.

when i come around...


	7. Falling Into Blossoming

A/N: Sigh...my neck really hurts. Work is killing me.

Thanks to my reviewers:

TNPD: I love that I continue to wow you, and that you continue to flatter me with your reviews.

PureEvilOne: I can't sleep in anymore, I'm physically incapable it seems!!!!! This is what being forced to wake up early does to you...yup...great flashbacks. I love the flashbacks, it's like, I'm writing stories within my first story, it's fun.

xXxSarahxXx: I hope he is bettter, or gets better. Cocaine is a hard drug to kick...not speaking from experience but...um...yeah...everyone is having a hard time, especially since they recently all realized that they never really got over Spin's death.

RavenForever: Yeah...I liked that chapter to. But I think I like this one more...Chapter 4, however, has been my fave so far. Yeah, and that playground scene was only supposed to be eight years after they're fourth grade years...so...she'd only be about fifty/sixty something...yup...

DAGL: Yeah, my life is as follows: Class, write, work _real_ late, write more, sleep, wake up early, repeat. Thanks for the review.

Stacy: I love your reviews, they're so thorough! Hm...well, first of all, yes Doug is a butthole. I didn't like him; which is why he was such a bastard. I hope you'll forgive Becky a little, or at least understand her better after this chapter, same with TJ's parents...Oh! And his mom didn't really want him to go to the wedding, she wanted him to come home to meet Becky's fiance is all. I guess maybe that wasn't very clear...erm...yeah, I like writing the angsty talks, because I really get wrapped up into them and I start crying myself...sniffles...poor Mikey...

Alright, there's a slight **WARNING** for this chapter. It's going to be discussing, in minor detail, a...um...very special part of growing up, maturing...physically. SO, if you don't wish to read about this subject, then consider yourself forewarned. It's not that descriptive or anything, I actually kind of hope I gave the situation the respect and dignity it deserves. You're decision, though. I am, afterall, biased in the matter.

RIGHT-O! Pero, que me quedes tu...y me quede tu abrazo...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 6: Falling Into Blossoming 

Happiness. Laughter. Joviality. That's what came from the Dettweiler house that Thursday evening. And then a knock, resounded from the front door. The laughter stopped briefly, but quickly resumed. There was shuffling within. Someone called "I'll get it", and the front door swung open. More laughter flowed out from the living room, but did not catch on in the entryway of the Dettweiler house. The young woman, the daughter, Becky Dettweiler frowned at the tall, thin form standing before her, clouded with misery, standing with his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

"TJ..." she mumbled, hardly able to contain the surprise and dismay in her voice. The two siblings stared at one another from downcast glances. Becky noticed that TJ had grown taller, lost weight; his hair wasn't quite such a mess. TJ noticed that Becky had also lost weight, filled out more as a woman, gotten a tan; her hair was cut short and dyed strawberry blonde.

"Who's at the door, honey?" a man called, slipping up behind Becky, snaking his arm around her waist. She blushed, her entire face turning red, and giggled slightly, giddily. The man looked to TJ, frowned. He wasn't a tall man, well built, or astoundingly handsome. His hairs were light curls, his eyes a gentle green. Silver-rimmed glasses adorned his face. He seemed small, nothing special, nothing like the boyfriends Becky once brought home. He had a look of someone who came home every night at six, had a glass of wine every now and then with dinner, who was loyal only because it was the only way he knew how to be and couldn't be taught different.

"What are you doing here?" Becky hissed at her younger brother. He looked away, shrugged.

"Sorry," he muttered, turning to leave.

"I asked him to come," a voice piped from behind the couple in the doorway. They hadn't noticed the laughter in the living room had stopped. Everyone peered in to Mrs. Dettweiler.

"Mom..." Becky started.

"He's your brother," was the careful reply, "Let him in." The door opened wider, an invitation to the young man outside. He hesitated, glowering at the innards of the house he'd grown up in as though the light and cheer were some threat to him and his unhappiness. He obliged finally, stepping forward and trudging into the living room where his father greeted him with a nod. The fiancés took up occupancy on the couch and Mrs. Dettweiler half leaned against, half sat upon the arm of Mr. Dettweiler's chair. TJ stood, odd man out, to the side of the room, arms crossed, uncomfortable.

"Um...Harold, this is my brother, Theodore," Becky went into introductions, "TJ, this is my fiancé, Harold Rosenberg."

"A funny story," Harry spoke up, "How your sister and I met..."

"Oh, Harry...don't!" Becky squealed, wrapping her arms about the small man and burying her face in his shoulder.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad."

"It's embarrassing!"

"Oh, you've got to look back on it and laugh," Harry chuckled, "No offense, Mr., Mrs. Dettweiler, but your daughter has trouble finding the humor in life. I hope to change that. I wanted to be a comic, you know, but there are too many Jewish comedians out there already, and besides, I always wanted to be a doctor. I try to mix the two, but my patients don't find it very comforting when the man supposed to be treating them walks in with a big red nose on and a rubber chicken in his hands." The room burst into laughter, and TJ shifted, unable to even crack a smile, which Harry caught. "What's with your kids, mom, dad? They both look so miserable all the time." There was a hush, a glimmer of looks between the Dettweiler's, as though passing a silent secret, "Well...uh...so what are we having for dinner?" Dr. Rosenburg knew when to back down, "Now, Becky tells me your something else in the kitchen..."

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm anything special as a cook..." Mrs. Dettweiler fiddled with her shirt, "Between work...and I've taken up a few classes at the college...I don't have time to cook anymore."

"With all the kids out of the house, there's no one to cook for anyways, huh, honey?" Mr. Dettweiler chuckled.

"Yes...well...if one of my children would grant me grandchildren to cook for..."

"Well, I can't say how soon..." Harry mused, receiving a playful slap from Becky.

"We haven't even talked about children yet!" she cried.

"What's there to talk about? You want children, I want children; I want you to have my children, that's important. You'll make a terrific mother," Harry settled back against the couch, slinking his arm around Becky. She looked happy. She really looked happy. Harry seemed to notice TJ again, "So, you would be the brother that reads comics?"

"Yeah," TJ muttered, expecting the man to attempt a conversation on the subject, feign an interest in the subject.

"Oh...me, I never bought into the whole superhero bit. Give me the funnies any day," Harry laughed slightly, "I guess it was just so hard growing up a Jewish boy in Brooklyn, that I just couldn't swallow the idea of these super human guys wearing spandex and fighting for the good of mankind."

"I guess you'd have to believe that there is good in mankind," TJ retorted softly, a little reproachfully. Was this guy calling him jaded?

"Yeah, I suppose. I mean, for me as a kid, the good of mankind was about making sure Polly Malone and Rudy Geiger didn't get those packages they kept sending one another, or at the very least, making sure you weren't the delivery boy," Harry smiled somewhat, "You look like the kind of guy who could do with reading the funnies..."

"I used to..." TJ mumbled, eyes downcast. Every morning, he would read them to Spinelli. Even if she were out of town, he would call her, and read them to her. It was tradition. But she was gone. She broke tradition. _Screw tradition._

"I never read the funnies before," Becky broke in, "But Harry turned me on to them."

"You have to find a little humor in life, or you'll die from laughter deprivation," Harry explained, "But...um...I talk to much..."

TJ moved into the kitchen, pictures on the refrigerator catching his eye. He touched one in particular, gently, tracing the smiling face. It was his prom picture, Spinelli by his side. There was silence in the living room as everyone watched him.

"TJ...?" Mr. Dettweiler spoke up, then, "Son?"

It had been hard convincing Spinelli to go to the prom. TJ liked going to the school dances, but she preferred to avoid them. She looked beautiful in the picture. Red dress, red roses on her corsage, her hair pulled up in a bundle of curls. He'd been speechless that night when he first saw her, walking down from her porch.

"Why do you have this picture up?" he questioned silently, "I thought you took all her pictures down..."

"We never took her pictures down," Mrs. Dettweiler answered, her voice concerned. Becky shot an exasperated look to her parents.

"I am not going through this again..." she seethed, a low whisper that she hoped TJ hadn't heard. He had.

"You don't have to," he muttered, "I'm leaving." He made for the door, sickened, his stomach turning unpleasantly. Why had he come there? What had possessed him? Was it the false warmly assurance of family? The empty promise of a return to what had been normalcy in that house, what seemed ages ago? Was it company? Familiarity? Remembrance?

"TJ," Mr. Dettweiler called after him, and he paused, "What's wrong?" There was so much wrong. TJ turned, his eyes burning with tears and anger.

"You didn't come to the funeral," he stated quietly, "You didn't even call." Mrs. Dettweiler stepped forward.

"TJ..." she started.

"No. You didn't come to the funeral. You could have come. You could have called, at the very least. You could have said you were sorry, or told me it would be alright...or something..."

"Please, TJ...tonight's supposed to be a nice evening...and..."

"My wife dies...your son's wife dies...and you don't even call. You could have at least acknowledged it. I mean, maybe you're happy she's gone but..."

"Stop it," Mr. Dettweiler snapped, rising from his seat, "Stop this now." 

"No, dad. I know how you both work. Bad things don't happen, isn't that right? Not if you push it under the rug and pretend that it didn't happen. But something bad did happen and..."

"Don't yell at him. It's my fault, not his. Your father wanted to call, TJ, he wanted to go to the funeral," Mrs. Dettweiler interrupted in a light whisper, and TJ faltered, "But I didn't want him to. I didn't want to." She was crying now, almost suddenly, tears falling slowly, painfully from her eyes to her chin to the ground below, "I couldn't...it was, all over the news. Names, flashing across the screen. Her name, across the screen. I couldn't watch the television...I couldn't. I couldn't go to that funeral, TJ, I couldn't. She was a child, a beautiful child, that I watched grow up and fall in love with my son, and...how could I call, TJ? After everything we'd said, after everything we'd done and put you two through? How could I call and tell you, I'm sorry...how could you accept that sympathy from me? I knew...I knew that...I just felt that...when I first heard, I was happy for a moment that you two married so young, because...I thought that...it was good because at least you had a short time...a very short time to be together as husband and wife. And it meant admitting I was wrong...for so long...I was wrong, we were wrong. I felt ashamed, thinking those things, after condemning the both of you for so long because of it..."

"Mom..."

"And I couldn't go to that funeral, TJ. I couldn't see that church, with her pictures everywhere...like a reminder hanging in the air of all the time that passed...all the time I missed out on her life...on both of your lives...and all the time I did have with her. I couldn't see that box, that coffin...I couldn't..." she covered her face with her hands, shaking, trembling, and Mr. Dettweiler came to her side, wrapped his arms around her, "I'm so sorry, TJ, that we weren't there for you...but..." she looked up, met his eyes almost pleadingly, "No parent wants to bury their child...and she was my child, as much my daughter as she was Flo's...and I know how it's tearing them apart, the Spinellis...and how it must be tearing you apart...because it's tearing me apart...but I can't...I couldn't... I was too ashamed, and I was in too much pain. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

-0-0-0-0--------------Labor Day Weekend, 1996---------------0-0-0-0-

Spinelli leaned against the chair, rocking on the balls of her feet and glowering out at the glistening pool. She refused to put her bathing suit on in front of the boys, who were busy splashing and horsing around in the cool water. TJ, Vince, Mikey, and Gus being the boys. The sliding glass door opened, and closed and Gretchen stepped out. Spinelli turned to look at her, the boys too busy playing to notice anything else going on. She was wearing a one-piece bathing suit, a towel in her hand, and was distractedly rubbing sun block into her delicate fair skin. She was not planning on burning again this year.

"Aren't you going in?" Gretchen asked, looking down at her fully clothed friend. Spinelli glanced at the pool, blushing when she noticed TJ was pulling himself from the water making his way over. He'd lost most of his baby fat, thinned out, tanned from hours in the sun playing every sport imaginable, and it was really noticeable seeing as all he was wearing was his swim trunks.

"Finally," he exclaimed, grabbing Gretchen's arm, then following her gaze, "She's being a spoil sport." Spinelli stuck her tongue out at him.

"I forgot my swimsuit at home," she muttered, and Gretchen frowned at her.

"No you didn't, it was in the..."

"I _forgot_ my _swimsuit_ at _home_," Spinelli repeated, tersely.

"Oh...I'll be right there, TJ," Gretchen said, "I have to have a talk with Spinelli." TJ shook his head, relinquishing his hold on the taller youth, and padding back into the pool, jumping in while muttering 'girls' beneath his breath. Gretchen dragged a plastic chair over, plopping down next to Spinelli.

"What do you want, Gretch?"

"They've seen you in a swimsuit before," Gretchen started.

"Whatever, that's not what this is about...I just don't want to go swimming and..."

"I know what this is about," Gretchen interjected, "It's the same reason you've been wearing such baggy shirts, isn't it?"

"I always wear baggy shirts," Spinelli argued.

"Not like the ones you've been wearing lately. They make you look huge, Spin. Besides, I highly doubt the boys are going to notice...they're oblivious, you and I both know that. And even if they do notice it's not like it's this huge thing. I'll tell them about it, explain to them, so that if they do notice it..."

"Notice what?" Gus stood hovering beside them at the glass door, which was partially open. Gretchen grinned to her best friend, who scowled threateningly.

"You wouldn't..."

"That Spinelli's developing in the chest area..."

"_Gretchen_!" All motion in the backyard stopped. Spinelli sunk into her chair, covering her beet red face.

"It's perfectly normal, Spinelli, it's all a part of the biological process of adolescence. I mean, we learned all about this in health class. It's not that big a deal, every girl at school has been going through the same thing for the past two years, except maybe me but...simply because your breast have started to

"Just shut up, alright," Spinelli snapped, on her feet pushing her way past Gus and slamming the door behind her, disappearing into the house.

"Oh," Gretchen sunk into the chair, "I'm sorry...I didn't think she'd take it that way...I thought it would make things better, that it would get things over with and then...I don't know, we'd be past it. I didn't mean to make her mad..."

"Gretchen," TJ moaned from the pool, "I have to share a house with her! You know she's staying with me while her parents are out of town!"

"Oh man," Vince muttered, "Is that true? Is she really...oh man...TJ, you have to..."

"I do not want you to finish that sentence, Vince," TJ hissed, "Because I know that whatever it is you think I have to do is going to end up with me hurt courtesy of Spinelli's fists."

"Spinelli...with..." Gus turned red in the face, obviously picturing something dirty in his mind.

"Of course she is," Gretchen mumbled, "Why do you think she's been wearing all those huge clothes, and why she's been walking around school with her arms crossed."

"I just thought she'd gotten more hand-me-downs from her brothers and was in a real bad mood lately," TJ conceded, sinking low into the water, "How'm I supposed to look at her now knowing that...?"

"Well, somebody has to go talk to her..." Gretchen mumbled, then quickly saying, "Not me." And as if in a domino effect...

"Not me," Vince cried.

"Not me," Mikey spoke up.

"Not me," Gus peeped at the door. TJ looked around at them, feeling very betrayed.

"Gee, thanks guys," he muttered, "But what am I supposed to say to her? I mean, Gretchen, you're the girl..."

"Which is why this talk will mean so much more coming from any of you boys than me," she argued, "She needs reassurance that these changes in her body won't affect her relationship with you four."

"But why me?" TJ whined.

"You're better at these things," Mikey shrugged, "Words are your art form and you are a master at your craft...and...girls like you."

"Spinelli's not a normal girl," TJ reminded him. Vince patted his shoulders.

"Go get 'er, man. And remember, stay low, watch her right hook, don't forget that she bites and keep your distance," he said encouragingly, then with a gentle shove, "Now get in there." TJ sighed, scowling at the rest of the gang before pulling himself from the water, grabbing his towel and entering the house.

"TJ, you're dripping everywhere," Mrs. Dettweiler scolded from the kitchen, "Dry off."

"Sorry, mom," he mumbled, stooping down and rubbing the towel furiously over his soaked skin, "Where'd Spin go?"

"Upstairs," Mrs. Dettweiler replied, eyeing him with a reproving look as he raced up the staircase to Becky's room where Spinelli would be sleeping that night. The door was shut and TJ halted, knocking gently though he would have rather burst in.

"Go away," Spinelli growled.

"Spin, we have to talk," TJ said through the door, even as he was more than willing to do just as she'd commanded. She didn't answer and he took that as a cue to continue. "Gretchen didn't mean to say those things, you know that...she just...sometimes she doesn't think about what she says, and she doesn't see things like normal kids would. Everything is science to her...it's not her fault...she's just so smart and naïve at the same time." The door opened, and TJ fell back a little startled. Her hair was down, a frown playing along her face.

"Naïve? Let me guess, you want extra points for using this weeks vocabulary word?" She let him in and shut the door, taking a seat on the bed, leaning back.

TJ blushed, looking away, shameful that he'd just noticed, as the shirt she was wearing fell around her body that she was in fact growing in the chest area. He'd started noticing, like the other boys at school, that the girls around them were changing in body shape, but it was no big deal. They'd been over all of the basic changes accompanied by adolescence in health class. But it was different now that it was happening to one of his friends, someone he'd known his whole life. He liked her the way she was, unchanged. Spinelli noticed the look he wore, straightened and wrapped her arms over her chest, lowered eyes, her cheeks a deep red.

"You come up here for a reason?" she demanded.

"No...no reason," TJ stuttered, "Just to see if you were okay. Are you...okay, I mean?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Spinelli spat, slumping forward. TJ took a seat next to her on the bed.

"If you want, you can borrow one of my shirts," TJ said.

"What?" she narrowed her eyes at him, a raised eyebrow, confused, a little flustered.

"I mean to swim in. You can wear it over your bathing suit and..."

"That's alright, Teej," Spinelli relaxed, her hands falling to her lap, "Why me? Why can't Gretchen go first? Why do I have to be the one changing? At least if she went first then by the time I went through it, you'd all be over it...she'd have talked it to death..."

"I don't know," TJ muttered, meekly. The conversation was crossing into dangerous grounds, passing the boundaries of safe chatter into something more personal.

"Man, Teej...I'm worried...I just...oh man," She fell back on the bed, "I don't want you guys looking at me like that."

"Like what?" TJ asked, keeping his eyes forward and trying not to think about the fact that he was sitting on a bed with a girl. Even if she was his best friend, and it wasn't the first time they'd been in that position, there was something different about that moment in time. Maybe it was those "raging hormones" everyone kept talking about.

"Like the way you were looking at me just moments ago at the door," Spinelli snarled, "I'm not blind, Teej."

"Sorry," he mumbled, which received a particularly skeptical look, "I am. I mean, we're all going through changes, it's embarrassing, but at least we're all going through them together."

"Really? Is that so?" Spinelli sneered sarcastically, "Because I don't see any of you guys growing boobs, and Gretchen, queen of the flat-chested..."

"_Spinelli_," TJ chastised, perturbed, "Jeez..."

"Well it's true," she sat up, "You ain't going through the same thing I am...you didn't wake up to find these things suddenly in front of you...and..."

"But they're fine, nobody's noticed them. And..." he was squirming, this was not a conversation he wanted to be a part of, "I mean...they're just something you have to get used to and... they look fine..."

"How do you know they look fine?" she demanded.

"Well... let me see them," TJ grimaced, something was wrong with that sentence.

"_Let you see them_?" Spinelli cried shrilly, "Next you're gonna wanna touch them..." TJ closed his eyes, feeling very much like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"Thank you for that, Spinelli," he told her cynically, seething, "I'm surprised I'm not more traumatized having grown up with you."

"You are traumatized, Teej, but it has nothing to do with me," Spinelli muttered, then sighing, "Fine." She lifted herself up; pulling her shirt taut around her body to reveal the twin rises in her chest. They were small, but noticeable, like little flesh mounds beneath the thin fabric, and TJ wished at that moment that he was not there, not sitting in that room, on that bed, inspecting his best friend's budding chest. He really didn't like the way his face flushed, how light-headed he felt, the twisting in his stomach, or any of the various other reactions taking place within his body while looking at her.

"Fine...they look fine..." he stammered, "V...v...very nice..." She let the shirt loose, groaning. She fell to the bed, burying her face.

"It's not fair..." she moaned, "Why me?"

"Spinelli..." TJ started, but felt it was better to say nothing more. He couldn't find anything worth saying as it was. He patted Spinelli's shoulder, surprised to find that she was shaking. "Spinelli?" She pulled herself up, tears evident.

"I'm sorry..." she mumbled, sitting cross legged and facing him, "I just...I don't want this to happen...I don't want to be looked at differently...I don't want you looking at me differently...treating me differently..." she couldn't get anymore out, and TJ, taking a big risk, pulled her into his arms. He was surprised when she didn't hit him, even more surprised when she buried her face in his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. She cried and he said nothing, holding her tightly, afraid to move, afraid to talk. It hurt, watching her break down this way, and not being able to do anything about it. He'd seen girls cry before, seen Gretchen cry before, but it had never upset him as strongly as Spinelli crying. It was that she was so tough, that she never cried, that was getting to him. She'd broken her arm once, and even though she howled, threatened, and even kicked those around her, she never cried. She'd grimaced, bitten down the pain, and walked herself to the hospital. But there, in TJ's arms, she cried, tears spilling on his bare shoulder, shaking, trembling; she wasn't some tough kid; she was just a girl, a normal girl that was sad and hurting.

It killed TJ.

When Spinelli finally stopped, was silent, they still sat there. TJ was in no rush to get her out of his arms, he found he liked holding her. She was warm, soft, seemed almost fragile, breakable with one wrong move. But he knew that they couldn't sit there like that forever. There was a knock on the door, and they stirred from that hold, Spinelli pulling away, not looking up, not looking to TJ. He walked to the door, opened it. Vince stood there with Mikey, hands on their hips.

"What are you two doing?" Vince demanded, "We've been waiting downstairs for who knows how long. You're dad's starting the barbeque up...you...uh...is everything okay?" TJ glanced to Spinelli, shamefaced on his bed.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he mumbled. He could see that the last thing she wanted was the rest of the gang knowing how she'd broken down, how she'd bawled like a baby. She had a lot of pride, and TJ was the last person that wanted to take that from her.

"Well are you coming down?" Mikey questioned, then, striking a dramatic pose, "Ah...the last corn on the cob, the final grilled hot dog...summer, we bid thee adieu."

"Yeah, we'll be down in a minute," TJ said, scratching the back of his head distractedly. Vince raised an eyebrow at him, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Alright, but your dad wants to know who's having hot dogs and who's having burgers before he throws anything on the grill," Vince told them.

"I'll have a burger...Spin?" TJ turned slightly, eying her, "Hot dog as usual?" She nodded. They couldn't see her face; those raven silk locks shielding her features much like a blanket or veil.

"Okay, I'll tell him...see you out back," Vince called over his shoulder, already half-way to the staircase, turning his attention to Mikey, "Last corn on the cob, the final grilled hot dog...that's pretty good, man. I like it. Is that the new poem you're working on?"

"Yes, my Farewell to Summer," Mikey nodded.

"You should work baseball in it somewhere..." TJ shut the door again, not turning, not wanting to see Spinelli, afraid of what she may look like. He sighed.

"You okay?" he asked, a small whisper.

"No," she answered, "Thanks, for not telling them and...for...for being there." He moved slightly, leaned against the door, rolling so that his back was pressed against the hard wood, his eyes downcast focusing on that area where the floor met the bed.

"We're all there for you," he mumbled. He could hear her move from where she sat and found himself looking at her feet. He glanced up.

"I'm ready. Let's go," she said, not looking at all ready. He nodded, straightening and moving to open the door. He froze, felt her fingers brush along his skin. "You have freckles...on your shoulders," she commented quietly, musingly, "I never noticed before. I like 'em." She opened the door, slunk out, walking to the stairs and turning somewhat only to give him a slight, half-hearted smile, "Coming?"

"Yeah...yeah..." TJ stammered, heart pounding madly in his chest, realizing for a brief moment that he'd forgotten to breath.

-0-0-

They watched the last light of the day slink beneath the horizon from Fort Tender, they're eyes following the sun's descent with saddened eyes.

"I shall miss summer," Mikey announced, as though the others hadn't thought to do the same, "Baseball, kickball, soccer, bike riding, street ball, swimming..."

"Some of us soaked up as many hours as they could in the pool," Vince interjected, glancing pointedly at Spinelli, "While others squandered the time away." She gave him the finger.

TJ thought to say something, but held his tongue. Spinelli was quickly becoming the raunchiest of the group, easily picking up on every obscenity she came across. At first, TJ had tried to persuade her to censor her words and gestures, but slowly...very slowly, he was starting to use them as well. Now, there were few things she'd say or do that he himself hadn't already said or done, so scolding her would only make him a hypocrite. He did, however, often find himself longing for the days when they were all so innocent, and a finger was just that, a finger; as opposed to a metaphor for something vulgar and rude.

"Well, technically, the temperature will not be dropping below adequate swimming heat for another couple weeks. I mean, you do understand that even as the calendar states Labor Day as the final day of summer, summer itself doesn't actually end until..." Gretchen began.

"There's always next summer," Gus interrupted, saving them a long lecture on the equinoxes, solstices, and how the way the world spins on its axis affects the temperature of the earth.

"Gretchen, Gus, your parents are here," Mrs. Dettweiler called out into the backyard.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow," Gretchen sighed as she and Gus climbed down from the tree house.

"I should get going, too," Vince muttered, "Walk with me, Mikey?"

"Certainly, my good friend." the two quietly followed the others down. TJ shifted sheepishly, looking to Spinelli. She was crawling towards the entryway of the tree house, watching the rest of the gang leave, and waving to them. She fell back, rolling her eyes to meet his own.

"How late are we staying up tonight?" she questioned and TJ grinned.

"Well, there's a horror movie marathon on..." She clapped her hands together, exclaiming "great", sliding down the ladder to the ground below and TJ quickly followed.

They lay facing one another on the couch in the living room, their legs pulled up to their chests, covered in dark watching an old black and white horror flick. Spinelli was fidgeting and TJ gave her an earnest glance of annoyance.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I don't feel good, that's all," she slumped down, frowning at the television, "Why does the girl always go into the dark, creepy room by herself? Is she stupid, or what?" TJ shrugged, jumping when the man wielding an axe leapt from hiding at the helpless heroin. Spinelli broke into laughter, leaning closer to him, "She's not gonna die yet," she whispered, "The guy dies next."

"How do you know that?"

"It's too predictable," she frowned at the television again; a hand lay over her abdomen. She sat up suddenly, and TJ tried to pay attention to the movie as opposed to her inability to sit still. "TJ...will you turn on the lights..."

"Why?" he muttered, "Is it too scary for you, Miss this-is-too-predictable?"

"Teej..." her voice was shaking, a little frightened, catching in her throat. TJ was at the light switch in an instance, turning to look at her while the room illuminated. She was staring at her fingers blankly, those fingers stained with red. TJ's brow furrowed, he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Spin...are you okay? Are you bleeding?"

"I want to see your mother," she whispered, her eyes staring at that bright red, "Please..."

"Mom," TJ hollered, "MOM!" There was a rush of padding footsteps on the staircase and Mrs. Dettweiler filled the doorway, gasping for breath, white in the face.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay?" she cried frantically, looking about the room with wide frightened eyes.

"I think Spinelli's hurt," TJ explained. Mrs. Dettweiler's eyes fell on the poor girl huddled on the couch still staring at her fingers. She moved towards her, stopping in front of the couch.

"TJ, leave the room," she commanded quietly.

"What? But what's wrong with Spinelli? Is she gonna be okay?"

"What's going on?" Mr. Dettweiler asked, appearing in the doorway as well.

"TJ, go upstairs," Mrs. Dettweiler hissed. Mr. Dettweiler looked around, quickly surmising the situation with a glum expression. He wrapped his hands over his son's eyes, dragging him back into the hallway, "Come along, son, nothing to see here."

"But what's wrong with Spinelli?" TJ demanded, struggling against his father.

"I'll tell you later, now come on." They left the room, TJ's voice asking an endless line of questions fading as they disappeared up the stairs.

"Is this your first one?" Mrs. Dettweiler asked, kneeling down. Tears began to spill down Spinelli's pristine cheeks, her hair falling about her face. "Oh...oh, Ashley dear, it's alright..." Mrs. Dettweiler soothed, pulling the small girl into her motherly embrace.

"I just...is this...did I just start...Mrs. Dettweiler, I don't think I can handle any more changes," she cried, trying to fight back the sobs as the older woman gently massaged her back.

"It's alright, sweetheart," Mrs. Dettweiler whispered, "Changes are a part of life. Do you think you can make it to the restroom?" Spinelli nodded. "Good, let's get you cleaned up." She led Spinelli like a child, hands clasped, and Spinelli pouted cherubically at the small stain on the couch cushion where she'd sat.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It's alright, dear," Mrs. Dettweiler assured her, "It can be cleaned up later. You, on the other hand, need attention now." Spinelli took a shower, a long hot shower as prescribed by Mrs. Dettweiler. She scrubbed her entire body raw, hiccupping every now and then with dismay and tears. She stepped out accepting clothes from Mrs. Dettweiler and a small crinkling package. The older woman pointed to the side of this object.

"These are the instructions, it's very simple. I'll wait out here." Spinelli disappeared back into the restroom, reading the package carefully, the tiny black print in the white rectangular box. She frowned at the thin blue plastic of the package, at the smaller packages in little rows within the bigger package. She took one, unwrapped it, scowling at the detestable white netting with pink plastic backing. She peeled back the white strip of paper that concealed the glue, and placed it in her panties with a pained grimace. Change every two to four hours, the instructions had read. What a nuisance.

"My life is over," she moaned. She frowned at that blue plastic package, and at that small cotton bra her mother had bought her earlier in the week. She poked at her chest, cupped her hands over the small breasts and pushed them down, willing them to flatten back into her body to no avail. She sighed, her hands falling to her side. The pressure had started to hurt. She finished dressing and slipped out of the bathroom, finding Mrs. Dettweiler waiting patiently.

"Would you like to sit on the bed?" Mrs. Dettweiler asked. They'd been in Becky's room, using Becky's bathroom. Spinelli didn't say anything, simply slumping down on the large mattress where she'd be sleeping that night. Mrs. Dettweiler pushed the fine baby strands from Spinelli's face, frowning at the drenched strings of hair. She plucked the towel off the floor and gently began drying Spinelli's locks with a tender massage, and the small girl simply sat still without protest or movement.

"Why is this happening to me?" Spinelli finally questioned, with only a slight hint of a whine.

"You're a girl, Spinelli, it happens to all girls. It happened to me when I was your age, it happened to Rebecca when she was your age," was the solemn reply.

"I wish I was a boy. They don't have to go through this awful thing..." Mrs. Dettweiler stopped, gently, forcefully taking Spinelli's chin and turning her face.

"Don't say that. Don't ever think that. This is a beautiful time in a young girl's life. You're becoming a woman, Ashley. I know it seems horrible at first, disgusting even, but it's not. Your body is a beautiful thing. You'll soon see that this is something that connects all women. That it's very powerful, very empowering," Mrs. Dettweiler resumed drying Spinelli's hair.

"But why me? Gretchen doesn't have to..."

"But she will. One day, she too will start her cycle. Very soon, in fact. And it'll be special for the both of you, because you'll be there to help her with it. You'll share this together."

"And this chest...these boobs...TJ, he tried, but...they'll notice, and they'll look at me funny, and..." the tears came again.

"Sweetheart," Mrs. Dettweiler cooed, "Of course they're going to notice, and at first, it will be awkward. But eventually, the noticing will be good. You'll like when boys notice. In fact, you'll probably spend most of your youth trying to get them to notice."

"But...I feel like it's making me weaker..." The tears were stopping. There was something calming about talking to a woman about this, a woman who'd gone through it all, already.

"Oh, but it isn't, sweetie," Mrs. Dettweiler chuckled, "On the contrary, this will make you stronger. You'll find that it gives you power..." she lowered her voice, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, "You'll find that these..." she lifted her own breast slightly in emphasis, and Spinelli couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous vulgarity of the motion, "Will give you a power over men that they will not be able to resist, that they will never have over you."

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Dettweiler stepped off the bed, tossing the damp towel into the bathroom.

"You know those looks, the boys are giving you? The way they all gape. They're not looks of disgust or shock or distaste," Mrs. Dettweiler smiled, a smile of wisdom, "It's that they are noticing, and it is a good noticing. That, my dear, is the power of women. Because you see, that adage is true. Women do rule, and men...well, they drool over women." Spinelli smirked. Mrs. Dettweiler stood in front of her, squinting her eyes, "Now...what is that there...?" Spinelli's brow furrowed, as Mrs. Dettweiler bent, brushing her fingers along Spinelli's cheek. "Is that...ah...I see it now...there she is...a beautiful young woman sitting before me." Spinelli grinned.

"Thanks, Mrs. Dettweiler," she said.

"Now," the older woman exclaimed, making her way to the door, "You'll want to call your mother. She'll want to know what's going on, she'll want to talk to you."

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, well, you see, there are a few moments in time, a few events, that a mother waits for so that she can give her daughter a 'talk', if you will. These 'talks', these 'moments', are very important, very special, for a mother. In fact, from the first moment she holds her daughter, no more than a newborn babe, in her arms, she begins planning these 'talks' out word for word. This is one of those moments in time that inspires one of those 'talks'." Mrs. Dettweiler explained, reaching the door and opening it, she smiled to Spinelli, "I guess I'm lucky. I was able to give my 'talk' twice, to two very special girls. You'll be fine, Ashley, you'll be just fine."

-0-0-

TJ slumped on his bed letting the things his father was saying sink in. Mr. Dettweiler himself was at TJ's desk, sitting in his swivel chair facing his son.

"So she's...ugh..." TJ groaned, "Poor Spin..."

"Just be glad you're not a girl, son," Mr. Dettweiler said, nodding appreciatively, "Be glad you're a man."

"Ahem." Both occupants of the room turned to the doorway, Mrs. Dettweiler standing before them with hands on her hips, "What corrupt ideas are you filling my son's head with?"

"Is Spinelli alright?" TJ asked, halfway to his feet.

"Yes, she's not an invalid. She's just started her menstrual cycle," Mrs. Dettweiler explained with a casual shrug, making her way over to her husband and slapping him scathingly on the arm, to which he gave a small yelp of pain.

"Ugh...mom, do you have to say it like that?" TJ moaned.

"Like what? That's its technical name," Mrs. Dettweiler sighed, "She's started her period. It's not a big deal."

"I'm gonna go see her," TJ muttered, running to the door.

"TJ," he stopped, looking to his mother, "I don't want you to tell any of your little friends about this, alright? This is her secret. She'll tell them, if she wants to."

"But mom, the gang'll worry and..."

"Just, don't," Mrs. Dettweiler hissed, "Or you'll be facing my punishment..."

"Ulp...sure thing, mom," TJ gulped, rushing from the room, and hearing the first bit of a lecture his mother began warming herself into, screeching at his father. TJ sighed, closing his bedroom door and heading towards Becky's. It was partway open, just a small crack, and he could hear Spinelli inside on the phone.

"Yeah, ma..." she was saying, he could hear the tears in her muffled voice, "I'm alright...Mrs. Dettweiler took care of it, she was great, she made me feel a lot better...I just...I wanted to talk to you..." TJ slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall, one ear mildly listening to Spinelli speak, but not quite hearing or comprehending the words.

"Your period, that's rough, Spin..." TJ whispered, barely audible beneath his breath, staring dully at his hands, "Well, you don't need to worry. I'm here for you..." He smirked ironically. "If you'd just come to me..." he frowned, saddened, "I guess you're a girl now. Oh man...I have nothing in common with a girl...my best friend is not supposed to turn into a girl." He fell silent when the door opened completely.

"TJ? What are you doing?" Spinelli asked, standing over him. He looked up, forced a smile.

"Nothing, just waiting for you...are you okay?"

"I'm tired, I want to go to bed. Are you tired?" Spinelli mumbled, looking back into the room. TJ frowned, pulling himself to his feet. She wasn't answering him, wasn't looking at him.

"Yeah, sure," TJ muttered. He wasn't tired. She disappeared back into the room and TJ made his way back to his bedroom. His parents had vacated it, so, with a heavy sigh, he began getting ready to sleep. He wanted to call someone, talk to someone. She wouldn't talk to him. Spinelli wouldn't talk to him. She kept growing and changing, and...and she kept keeping things from him. She'd always talked to him, always told him everything when they were younger. He wanted to go back in time, back to their childhood, and trap Spinelli, trap her in that child's body, in that childhood forever. He wanted to stop her from growing, from changing, from going through all these things. He wanted to stop her from leaving him.

TJ sighed, falling onto his bed. There was nothing he could do about it though. This would probably be the last time she slept over at his house. Maybe they'll stop talking eventually, start hanging out with different people. Maybe he'll make more guy friends and she'll find a crowd of girls who'll teach her to put on make-up, perfume, do up her hair, walk in heels and tiny skirts. He tried to push those thoughts from his mind, but the little girl he knew was quickly fading, quickly being replaced with this older, feminine carbon copy.

-0-0-

In silence, a dark figure skulked into the small room blanketed in pitch black. The only light came from the small digital alarm clock that read '2:10', and a small stream of moonlight from the window.

"Teej..." the figure whispered, "TJ..."

"Hmm..." TJ mumbled from the bed, moving somewhat. He was laying on his belly, his eyes still closed, groaning and stirring to wakefulness.

"I can't sleep," was the small whispered explanation. Spinelli came to the bedside, lifting the covers and slipping beneath them, hiding from the chill of the room.

"Well, I could. Until you woke me up," TJ replied, disgruntled. His body freezing when he realized she was lying next to him.

"Sorry..."

"What's wrong?" he asked, groggily. Trying to settle those emotions and reactions he was taking to this situation. They'd shared a bed before; it was nothing new. This was nothing new; he tried reassuring himself, it's perfectly normal.

"I can't sleep," she repeated, then, softly, "Can we talk?" He perked up slightly at that. He'd been waiting all evening for those words ever since what had happened. He most definitely wanted to talk.

"Always."

"I'm scared, Teej..." she squirmed, so that their shoulders were touching.

"Why? Of what?"

"Do you hate me?" The question was so small, so serious. TJ lifted himself slightly, looking down at her.

"For what? What could I possibly hate you for?"

"Everything. For not swimming...for crying...for starting my..." the words caught in her throat. TJ fell back to his pillow, closing his eyes again and relaxing, his hand coming up to rub her shoulder.

"I could never hate you, Spin. There are times when I'm mad at you, or strongly dislike the way you're acting, but I could never hate you," he said, through his fatigue-induced drowsiness, "You'll get through this, Spinelli, you're the toughest kid in school, the toughest girl I know. Other girls at school are going through the same thing, and they're getting through it. You're stronger than all of them, braver, I know you can handle it. Then you'll get to the point where you'll realize, it's not something you need to get through, it's just a part of life."

"You're mother tell you to say that?"

"No, but it would've made her proud." TJ stared at his pillow, propping himself up on his elbows, "Let's make a promise. A pinky promise..."

"A _pinky promise_? We're not children anymore, Teej," Spinelli muttered, "I think I proved that today..."

"Just humor me, alright?"

"Fine, what do we promise?"

"That no matter what happens, whatever changes adolescence brings, we'll always be friends," he told her.

"Best friends," she put in.

"Right, best friends," he grinned, extending his pinky, "Promise?" She looped her own pinky about his.

"Promise." They sunk back to the pillows. "TJ, you have to make me another promise."

"What?"

"Promise you won't tell anyone what happened. Not Vince, not Gretchen, not Mikey, and especially not Gus," Spinelli said.

"Are you going to tell them?"

"Not anytime soon. Maybe Gretchen...when I get used to the idea that I...yeah..."

"Right. I already went over this with my mother. My lips are sealed. They're gonna worry though, you've been acting weird lately."

"You know, I don't know what I would have done if your mother hadn't been there," Spinelli whispered, "I liked her talking to me. I think I would have died of embarrassment if it was my own mother...you're mom's great."

"I guess...you're mom's cool too."

"Thanks, Teej, for...well...being you."

"No problem, I can be me anytime. Can we sleep now?"

"Yeah. Good night."

"Night."

-0-0-0-0----------------Present Time----------------0-0-0-0-

Mikey perked up when he saw those three familiar faces enter his room. His agent, talking on the phone beside him, hung up, frowning. She didn't approve of him having visitors; it would be bad enough when news got out that he'd been rushed to the hospital off of the movie set. She'd been swamped lately, doing damage control.

"Hey, Mikey," Gretchen greeted, stepping forward, "You look great." His eyes were sunken in, surrounded by dark bags, his face was pale and splotchy and felt like rubber, his lips chapped. He looked anything but great, but he smiled all the same, accepting a warm hug from the tall young woman.

"I look great? You look gorgeous," he wheezed. Vince set a vase of flowers on the nearby dresser, patting Mikey on the shoulder tensely.

"How's it going, buddy?"

"I've been better," Mikey said, his eyes falling on Gus who stood stiffly at the door, unwilling to come in. "Hey, Gus," he mumbled, "You okay?"

"Are _you_?" the young man shot back. "What are you doing to yourself, Mikey? _Drugs_...?"

"Leslie, will you leave us alone?" Mikey whispered to his agent. She nodded, getting up and leaving, shutting the door behind her without so much as acknowledging the others.

"_Well_?" Gus demanded, and Vince and Gretchen were silent, standing slightly away. "What were you thinking? Have you lost it? You know what those drugs'll do to you! What could possibly push you that far into stupidity..."

"Stop it Gus," Vince stepped in, "Cut it out."

"Yes, stop Gus. It's not going to help..." Gretchen started.

"Spinelli," Mikey interrupted, and they all fell silent. A deathly hush about the room, "I keep thinking...what if she hadn't been on that flight...what if she hadn't changed her tickets...what if she hadn't taken the earlier flight...what if she..."

"Shut up, Mikey," Gretchen hissed, "Just don't...don't think about it."

"But we all know she took an earlier flight. If she had stuck to her original schedule...if she'd never found out about...if she...she wouldn't have been on that plane when it went down. She'd be alive, she'd be here," Mikey pressed on, "Don't you think about it?"

"All the time, Mikey," Vince snapped, "But it means nothing...it changes nothing. She took the earlier flight, the plane went down, and she died. We can't...we can't dwell on what can't be changed..."

"But shouldn't we tell TJ?" Mikey demanded, "He should know."

"No," Vince cried, "_No_. No one tells him. No one tells him that she was on an earlier flight, and no one tells him why she was on the earlier flight. He doesn't know; it should stay that way."

"But it's not fair to him..." Mikey whimpered.

"TJ couldn't...I don't think he could handle it," Gretchen whispered, "He's...he's in bad enough condition as it is."

"So it's agreed," Gus spoke up, "No one tells TJ?"

"Agreed," Vince said and Gretchen nodded. They looked to Mikey.

"I don't think it's right..." he maintained, "But okay. I won't tell him..."

-0-0-

TJ made his way out of the Dettweiler house, walking solemnly down the street. He'd talked little that night, simply listening to his parents. There was too much to be said, too much to be made up for, but it was a start. He heard the front door open and close, stopped.

"TJ," Becky whispered through the night, "I wanted to talk...I wanted to..."

"About what?" he demanded, snidely. She'd been silent that evening, slipping off with her fiancé after dinner. She avoided talking about Spinelli, she refused to participate in the conversation.

"I was mad at you...for a long time you know," she told him, "I didn't know why...I thought it was because of the things you said and what you'd done. And it was, but not for the reasons I thought." She moved forward, sitting on the steps of the porch, "It was because you were right. I kept getting one schmuck after another, but I didn't love any of them. I wanted the hottest most popular guys...and I...I couldn't stand that my little brother knew better than me. He was dating a girl he'd known his whole life, a girl that wasn't popular, wasn't the hottest at school; that no one else cared about. And he was happy, and in love. And then you guys got married, and I was so jealous and envious and I hated my life..."

"Becky..." TJ started, turning to her.

"I'm so sorry, TJ," she cried, "I wanted to call, when I heard...but I didn't have your phone number and...she was such a sweet kid, and such a beautiful woman and...and I let the fact that I was dying of jealousy get in the way. I was so angry for so many reasons...I was angry you didn't tell me, that you kept it from me; assumed I would react like mom and dad. I wanted to be there, at your wedding TJ...I wanted to be a part of it, help her pick out a dress, watch her walk down the aisle, listen to you both exchange vows...but you cut me out of that, and I couldn't help but feel like I wasn't important to you...and what with my jealousy...it's because of what you said that I'm with Harry at all. After I got over the anger, when I realized why I was so mad...I started to rethink my life. I never would have dated a guy like Harry before...but...he reminded me of you...I miss her, TJ, I miss you."

"You pushed us away, Becky, it was your own fault," TJ mumbled, unsure what to do. Why couldn't they apologize before, when Spinelli was still around? Why couldn't they say all of this before?

"I know..." she whimpered, "And I'm never going to have that again, that moment, that opportunity to make amends with her...but you're here and...I'm so sorry, TJ. There were so many times when you needed me...and I wasn't there. I see it in your eyes, TJ...there's never been a time that you needed your family more...I want to be there for you...even if it's a little late, I want to be there for you."

"He's a good guy," TJ said, turning his back towards her, "I like him. You two look happy. I guess I'll go to the wedding."

"Good, I want you there. I wish she could be there," Becky whispered, she was beside him, wrapped her arms about him in a tight embrace. He couldn't return it. He wanted to, but he was frozen where he stood. The touch was too familiar, and too unfamiliar all at the same time. He couldn't forgive her completely; he couldn't forgive any of them completely, at least not yet.

* * *

END A/N: WOW, chapter 6 is in the can...how 'bout that... 

I'd like to impart a little advice on each of you before you leave: First of all, watch these movies: The Dead Poets' Society, The Breakfast Club, and American History X (All in one sitting if you have the time). Second of all, read poetry (even if you don't understand it) , and maybe write a few stanzas yourself (even if you suck at it and can't rhyme). Third of all, listen to eighties music (especially Cyndi Lauper, the Bangles, Pat Benatar, Blondie, and Prince.) as well as Billy Joel (worship him, too). Fourth, repeat Carpe Diem to yourself every morning before you start your day. Fifth, laugh at an innappropriate time at least once. Sixth, say 'Hi' to someone you don't know. Seventh, read a banned book (you Harry Potter fans have this one covered). And lastly, **_REVIEW_** my fanfic.

Thanks for reading, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors you may have come across.

Should I stay or should I go now...if I stay there will be trouble...if I go it will be double...so you got to let me know...should I stay or should I go...


	8. Way Out Where the Wild Flowers Grow

A/N: I play right field...it's important to know...you got to know how to catch, you got to know how to throw...that's why I play right field...way out where the dandalions grow....-That song is important, as it's where the title of this chapter comes from.

Thanks to the reviewers:

TNPD: I did vote. I feel as though my vote were useless.

RavenForever: No answers for you, yet. And no, my Halloween sucked.

PureEvilOne: He didn't really go there to confront his parents...it's not like he has a list or something (...now that I've ruined my parents evening and got them to admit their mistakes it's time to move on to the Spinellis...and next stop...babalou!...)

DAGL: Are you a tiger?

Stacy: Yeah, I found that little remark of Spin's particularly amusing...I really enjoyed writing that chap, and guess what followed it, my happy time of the month! Ironic? I hate the cosmos.

xXxSarahxXx: Yeah, it's Spanish, from Shakira's song "Que me Quedes Tu". Pero can mean dog in Spanish, in the right context (Pero caliente hot dog). Pero que me quedes tu - "But I have left you", y me quede tu abrazo - "And I have left your hug". Shakira is one of my favorite singers, her spanish songs are all so pretty.

SteffieWitter26: I like your long reviews. I totally approve of long reviews...lots and lots of long reviews! I like the flashbacks too. I've read a lot of deathfics, where TJ loses Spin or vice-versa, but they were all usually songfics or one-shots. I didn't want it to be like that, because you never get the real depth of their feelings. They write "oh well, they were in love, and now he/she's gone, and their sad and miserable", I wanted my readers to get the feeling that she was there and existed and I wanted everyone to see what a huge part of the gang's life she was. The dates are necessary, actually, because I want people to get an idea for what time in their relationship and time it is, not to mention that's the format I chose to write this story in. BUT THANKS!

I play write field...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 7: Way Out Where the Wild Flowers Grow 

Coffee. Black. Thick. Strong. A muffin. Blueberry. No...banana nut. I slumped in the booth at the café, glanced at my watch. He was late. Vince was late. He was always late. There was a jingle, at the door, announcing a costumer's entrance. I glanced to it, noted it wasn't Vince, and looked back to my pastry. Looked to my watch again. He was late. I hate when he's late. It reminds me that he has a life, and that I don't; and in an odd way, that my wife died, and with her, I died.

"Would you like a refill, sir?" the waitress asked, a flirtatious smile neatly in place. They got better tips when they flirted with the male customers. I knew, so I didn't take it personal. I could have humored her, played along, maybe told a joke and grinned boyishly. She'd have laughed, though whether it was because she actually thought it was funny, or if she just wanted a better tip, I'd never know. I didn't, humor her, that is.

"No," I simply muttered, frowning at the table and tapping it slightly to the beat of a song I once knew but couldn't remember anymore. I glanced my watch and sighed, "Damn."

"Are you waiting for someone?" a woman asked in the booth over. She'd turned around, was smiling at me. Her friend, sitting on the other side was giggling, blushing, and glancing up at me through her eyelashes when she thought I wasn't noticing.

"Yeah," I said, not wanting a conversation with them, but knowing that it was exactly what this woman intended to start.

"A date?"

"Not exactly..." I looked to the door again. This was one of the reasons I hated Vince being late. People liked to talk to me. Before, when I was younger, I liked talking to people, and I didn't mind it. But now, things have changed. I'm a little introverted. I don't want to meet new people, I want to focus all my time on the people I already know and already like before I possibly lose them too.

"A blind date? Were you stood up?" the woman pressed on. I picked at my muffin, watched crumbs fall to the plate.

"No, and not that I know of," I mumbled, wanting more than anything to end the conversation, but knowing I wouldn't. I was polite like that. Screaming obscene words in my head at people I didn't like while a smile was plastered to my face. I wished I were rude at that moment. Spinelli would have been rude, without hesitation. She would have already told those women to shove off. She'd have given them the finger, her answer to the world, and I'd have apologized for her behavior, then whispered 'I love you, and everything you say and do, don't ever change' in her ear behind their backs. She let me be fake. She believed that people like me needed the world censored, we needed to believe that there was some good in the world. But not her world, of course. She said I liked everything black and white, good and bad, but she was all about the shades of gray with a 'fuck you' attached.

"You could join us," she suggested, leaning forward, letting her bleach blonde locks fall in her face. She hunched her shoulders, letting her low-cut shirt fall, pushing her breast together so that they puckered out. She was smiling, an offering. She looked like the type of woman who didn't get rejected. Her sexuality exuded confidence that most men found addictive. Her friend was blushing. She was probably the one that really wanted me to join their table. It made me think of Spinelli. She would never wear clothes like that, revealing. Her body was for my eyes only. Women, like this woman in front of me, felt that her body was a gift to the world and should constantly be on public display. I didn't like that. I felt it was disrespectful to themselves. They were starving for attention and using their body as an excuse to get it. I looked to my watch again.

"No, thank you," I mumbled, twisting my wedding ring on my finger, a nervous habit I'd picked up those three years ago. It reminded me that I was happy once, that I had been interested in a young woman once, that I had been capable of love once. The door opened again, but I didn't bother looking. If it was him, he'd join me; if it wasn't, I didn't want to get my hopes up. Besides, the woman was still interested in talking.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be forward..." she giggled, "You just look so lonely."

"Teej," turning to look at Vince, I was struck with several urges. I nearly jumped for joy. I nearly burst into tears. I nearly fell from my seat. Hell, I nearly punched his lights. I indulged none of them.

"You're late," I spat. He patted my shoulder, nodded to the bottle-blonde who simply turned back to her friend with a light indignant snort, took the seat across from me and stole my muffin. He was wearing his team jacket, a baseball cap atop his head, and sunglasses. He wasn't as well known as Mikey, but sometimes he was recognized by a group of testosterone pumping men and surrounded, and he didn't like to risk that. Especially when he was meeting with one of the gang. He was nice enough to think of us, not wanting to pull us into that bright celebrity light.

"I had to run laps at practice," he explained, taking a bite of my spongy pastry, "I keep fouling up."

"Aim, Vince, don't throw," I reminded him, staring at my coffee before he took that as well.

"You know, you should coach me, Teej. I've thrown my best games playing with you in my corner," he chuckled, but I didn't join him. He didn't notice. They didn't notice when I failed to smile or laugh these days. I could never figure out if that was good or bad, if I wanted them to notice or not. "I heard you went to Chez Vince, that where you took your..." he stopped himself. Date. They avoided that word like the plague, not wanting to bring up that night simply because it brought an immediate reminder of the next day and the fight we'd all had. The, let's-gang-up-on-TJ, fight.

"Yeah," I folded my napkin, the one thing Vince hadn't taken, "You still have those pictures up...of her..."

"Why would I have them taken down?" Vince asked, uncomfortably. I almost blurted out 'because she's dead', but I caught myself. Did my bitterness know no bounds? It made sense. _Why_ would he have them taken down?

"How'd you know we went there?"

"Spence told me," Vince said, suddenly losing the appetite that had possessed him to steal my muffin, pushing the plate away, "He told me you sat in the table...where the picture hangs...of..."

"Our anniversary," I finished for him quietly. He was taking too long. They always putter around the issue. They seem to think if they mention her name or anything having to do with her, that I'll break down in front of them, shatter heartbroken across the table. Either that, or they think they will.

"Yeah, she looked beautiful that night."

"She always looked beautiful." I began tearing the napkin. I liked the sound it made, and the power I felt I had over that napkin, ripping it to shreds. It was the last anniversary we'd had together. It had been a good night. We'd danced, talked with the gang, laughed, Mikey had sung for us. The rest of the guests at the restaurant that day were treated with complimentary drinks. When we got home, I carried her to bed and we'd made love. It was after that, which was my favorite part of the evening. We lay in bed, together, talking. We had talked about our love, our life together up to that point, the future of our life together. We'd discussed our families, our friends, and our jobs; how we hated the long hours we spent away from one another. She'd took up the impossible venture that night of kissing every one of my freckles. I made her stop. It had tickled. It was funny, how I still remembered even those little things. It was a curse, really.

"Remember when that woman saw Spin's wedding ring that night, and made that comment...about how it was small and asked where the stone was. You know, the woman with the huge diamond ring on her finger...what was it that Spinelli told her...I can't remember..."

"She said...she said... 'You must be jealous...huh, because my husband didn't have to buy my love'," I quoted exactly. Vince smirked.

"I was surprised she didn't pop the old hag..." he snickered. We were silent. Vince quietly sipping my coffee, me, slowly tearing my napkin to tiny shreds.

"My sister's getting married," I finally said.

"Becky? To who? Or more precisely, to what classification of slime?"

"He's a nice guy, actually," I shifted, "He really likes her, not just that she puts out. I'm going to the wedding."

"What? Are you kidding me? After the hell your sister put you and Spin through..."

"I know, I know...but I've already decided." I looked to the pile of napkin shreds in front of me, frowning at them. "She's my sister, Vince."

"It's funny that she didn't remember that when you needed her to." He shook his head after a moment, leaning back in the booth with an exaggerated sigh, "Whatever, man. If that's what you want to put yourself through, then go ahead." Silence, again. "I saw Gretchen the other night. She was on a date with some cheese ball."

"Oh?" I tried sounding interested. I wasn't. Gretchen went on a lot of dates, all with "cheese balls" according to Vince.

"What does she see in those guys?"

"A prospective chance of a future? Maybe a possible good time, followed by another good time, which may eventually lead to marriage, family, and eternal bliss," I told him. He scowled at me. "You go on dates too, so does Mikey, so does Gus. I don't hear you complaining about them."

"Well...I...it's just that..." I knew why he didn't like the guys Gretchen dated, but I wanted him to say it. "I know how men can be, and she's my friend. I don't want her to get hurt. Don't you feel the same way?" Of course, he would never say it.

"Yeah...sure..."

-0-0-0-0--------------February 1999------------------0-0-0-0-

Red hearts, pink signs, and naked babies with wings and bows and arrows covered the walls of the high school, marking the coming of Valentine's Day. Students moved through the hallways, laughing, joking. There seemed a breakout of couples that month; everyone had a significant other by their side. They were holding hands, cuddling, breaking every Public Display of Affection rule in the schoolbook.

"It looks like Cupid threw up in here," Spinelli commented, shuffling through her locker. TJ leaned against the cool metal, grinning at her.

"You say such pleasant things," he teased. She stuck her tongue at him, found the text book she needed, slammed her locker shut and pushed her way down the hall, shoving couples apart while she was at it. TJ followed, muttering 'excuse us' to everyone he passed, trying to catch up with the pugnacious young woman he would like to eagerly claim as his. They'd been going on dates for the past four months, but he still wasn't sure what to call her. She never introduced him as anything other then 'my friend', and he followed suit, not wanting to rush her out of their relationship purgatory for fear it would land them back as 'just friends'.

They stopped. Spinelli first, then TJ. He wanted to put his arm around her then, but thought better of it. On their dates, he'd take her hand, steal kisses when he could, wrap his arm about her shoulders, and pull her close. But at school, she claimed to have her reasons, but she wanted to keep that "dating stuff" separate.

"Hey guys," Spinelli greeted as Gretchen and Mikey made their ways over. Gretchen was putting more time into herself those days, waking up early enough to do her hair and make-up. She found it fascinating, these "rituals" as she called them, which girls put themselves through. She said it's like an archaic passage into womanhood. She attempted to get Spinelli to practice the same morning "rituals", but Spinelli would only scoff and walk away as though insulted at the idea.

"Various shades of beauty, walk along the deserted halls, a light upon the tiles, and her unique smile, that falls across her delicate skin and..." Mikey was mumbling, and TJ and Spinelli shot Gretchen a questioning look.

"He's got a crush," she explained, "He's writing her a poem, to ask her to the Valentine's Day dance."

"On who?" Spinelli demanded, "Not that Amanda Bucktooth girl?"

"Amanda Barkley," Gretchen corrected, choosing to ignore the blatant insult of one of her close friends outside of the gang, "And no, not anymore. He won't say who it is. All he said was we'll know when they get to the dance."

"Great," TJ muttered, "At least he's confident."

"Me, on the other hand, am still waiting for an invitation of accompaniment to the dance..." Gretchen seemed to find someone in the crowd, her eyes staring off in the distance. The other's glanced in the same direction, but found no one in particular that could hold any girl's gaze like that in their opinion. "Tickets come on sale soon. You guys want to come with me when I go to buy mine?"

"Nope," Spinelli spoke up first, and TJ eyed her curiously, "I'm not going. I hate the dances at this school. They're so lame. I have to get to class. Bye guys." A stunned silence followed her as she shoved her way down the hall. Gretchen looked to TJ.

"I figured you two would be going to the dance together," she stated, blinkingly.

"So did I," TJ admitted, a little flustered.

"Does she know that?" Mikey asked.

"We hadn't talked about going to the dance..." TJ shrugged, shifting his backpack, "Oh well."

"Are you still going?" Mikey questioned.

"Maybe...yeah, I don't see why not," TJ waved, making his way casually down the hallway towards his own class.

"That was odd," Gretchen commented, glancing at her watch, "There's still time before the bell rings. Let's go look for Vince."

"Sounds good to me. I think I saw him heading down the four hundreds hall," Mikey fell into step behind Gretchen, continuing mumbling different nonsensical sentences beneath his breath.

-0-0-

Vince tapped his fingers on his desk, perking up only when his friend waltzed through the door. TJ frowned at Vince, made his way to his desk.

"What are you doing here so early?" TJ demanded, taking the seat in front of Vince.

"I needed to talk to you...what are you doing here so early? Shouldn't you and Spin be acting all lovey-dovey somewhere." TJ shook his head at his friend, turning to open his book and shuffling through his bag for his homework.

"I got a little creative with spelling, do you think Miss Baulker will mind?" TJ asked, frowning at his writing and fighting the urge to get angry at the comment Vince had made.

"She's the English teacher, TJ, I think she might" Vince muttered, "Use a dictionary. Gretchen's good." TJ grinned.

"I was on the phone with Spin all night, I didn't have time to call Gretch. I could have used the help on my Physics paper though..."

"I don't get it," Vince leaned forward as more students flooded into the class, dropping his voice, "You and Spin are inseparable outside of school...but when you hit campus..."

"Hey don't ask me about that, it's her decision," TJ mumbled, trying to make a few last minute grammar changes on his paper.

"And you don't mind?"

"Are you kidding me?" TJ had to fight to control his voice from reaching an exasperated screech, "It's like I'm a kid and she gave me a small lick of ice cream and then said after that I'm not allowed to have anymore, but she keeps waving the melting cone in front of my face."

"Interesting analogy..." Vince had the look of a boy with dirty thoughts floating through his mind. TJ scowled at him.

"What the hell, Vince?"

"Sorry...what's her deal?"

"I don't know...but it's getting harder man...I mean, hell, is it wrong that I feel ashamed for having wanted to put my arm around my girlfriend in the hallway this morning?" TJ shook his head; "You said you wanted to talk to me about something?" He was desperate to change the topic. He was starting to get riled up, his voice getting high-pitched, and they were receiving dodgy glances from around the classroom.

"The dance..." Vince started and TJ groaned.

"What? Don't tell me you need my help getting a cheerleader to go with you. Alright, let's see...I've got a plan in my head, but I don't think Gus will be willing to dress up as a goril..."

"Teej, can _I_ talk?"

"Sure, whatever."

"I'm thinking of asking...don't laugh alright..."

"Totally serious. This is my serious face," TJ grinned. Vince frowned.

"Changed my mind. I'll talk to Mikey about it."

"_Mikey?_ Tell me, Vince. Come on, I won't laugh," TJ nearly jumped from his seat, shifting, pleading with his friend, "Come on, please. No more joking."

"Alright. I was thinking of asking Gretchen." TJ's pencil dropped to the floor, his brows drawing together in an effort to figure out exactly what Vince meant by that statement.

"As friends? Because Vince, if you're giving up on dating so early in the game..."

"I'm serious, Teej. I'm thinking of asking Gretchen to be my Valentine." TJ swallowed hard, leaning forward, his hand groping the ground in search of his pencil. He was trying to maintain composure. Laughing would hurt his friend's feelings. When TJ had told Vince and the rest of the gang his feelings for Spinelli, and to be honest, he hadn't held back long, there had been no shock, no long drawn out surprise. In fact, they'd nodded and said "well it took you long enough to figure it out" and "What did I tell you guys? Inevitable!" and "You owe me ten bucks", that last one had been Mikey to Gus. But Vince's startling news was shocking to TJ. He hadn't seen it coming. He doubted the rest of the gang had either.

"Uh...that's great, man," TJ mumbled, finding his pencil and heading back to his homework.

"I shouldn't have told you. I should have told Mikey. He's better at this stuff...or even Gus...or even Spinelli," Vince shook his head, gritting his teeth, staring at his desk.

"I'm sorry, Vince," TJ sighed, turning back around, "I'm just a little stunned is all. Gretchen and you...I mean...you've been into a lot of girls, and none of them were anything like Gretchen."

"Maybe that's why eventually I realized I didn't like any of them," Vince sneered, "Jeez, Teej...I can't know that something's right like you did about Spinelli. Sorry, but not everyone can be the golden...what would you call yourselves, because the way you act sure as hell is not like a couple?"

"Jeez, Vince, why you acting like such a prick?"

"Sorry. I just didn't realize even my best friend would think I'm not good enough for Gretch," Vince spat.

"That's not what I said! You're reading too much into my reaction!" TJ shook his head; the teacher was walking into the class shooting them both dangerous looks. They fell silent, looking obediently to the front of the room much like the rest of the students did. They sat in silence the rest of the period, and when the bell rang TJ had to practically chase Vince down.

"What?" Vince demanded, stopping at his locker.

"I'm sorry, alright," TJ whispered, "I never said you weren't good enough for Gretchen, and it's not what I meant. I am really sorry. It's just...odd is all...I mean, if you and Gretchen got together, it would be pretty cool..." Vince smirked.

"I'm sorry, too, Teej. What I said, I shouldn't have." Vince slid one of his books into the locker, closed it and leaned back, "I'm finally starting to realize what it's like, what it was like for you. How'd you deal with it, realizing how you felt about someone you knew your whole damn life?"

"Just that I knew her my whole damn life made it easier," TJ shrugged, "Of course, a lot of good that's doing me now. I can't even hold her hand in public..."

"Um...TJ...excuse me..." TJ turned, Vince eyeing the short young woman smugly. She was a girl they both knew. A journalist, wrote for the school paper, and popular. She had her brown hair pulled into a long braid down her back with little pink berates on both sides of her head. She had on a pink sweater over a white shirt decorated with little red hearts; the collar was tucked out over the edge of the sweater neckline. She always dressed for the season.

"Hey, Gloria," TJ greeted. They didn't talk often, she was a little on the shy, overly ambitious side. She studied too much and took her reporter duties a little too seriously. A combo that didn't work well with TJ.

"I was wondering if...maybe you hadn't...um...asked a girl to the dance this Friday...I don't know...maybe you'd go with me?" TJ felt his stomach sink. He felt Vince's eyes burning into him. He shrugged, thinking it through. She seemed nice enough, and Spinelli had clearly stated she didn't want to go. He had wanted to go, he'd really wanted to go with Spinelli, but...

"Yeah, sure," TJ finally decided.

"Really?" she cried, then, clearing her throat, blushing slightly, "I Uh...I'll give you my number. Here, I've got a pen somewhere...let me see your hand." TJ waited as she wrote the numbers down then skipped off, constantly glancing back at him with a gleeful smile.

"What are you doing?" Vince demanded, "Aren't you going with Spinelli?"

"No, she made it clear she didn't want to go to the dance. But I want to, and a couple ticket is a better deal then a single," TJ made his way down the hall.

"Yeah, well, how's Spinelli going to take this?" Vince asked, falling into step beside his friend. TJ frowned. "I don't believe you. I never thought you'd sink that low. You're doing this to make her jealous."

"I am not," TJ muttered, though the lump in his stomach suggested otherwise, "I just think it would be better if I went with someone. It's not like I asked the girl, she asked me. And you know...I couldn't lie and say I had a date, and it's not like I could tell her I didn't want to go with her."

"You could have told her you have a girlfriend," Vince said.

"You don't think she knows?" TJ glanced over his shoulder at Gloria's form, hopping excitedly with her friends.

"I don't think anyone but the rest of the gang and that teacher know," Vince chuckled, "When Spinelli finds out..."

"Oh man..." TJ glanced over his shoulder, "She'll be fine with it." He looked to the tile, "I hope."

"Spinelli's gonna beat the crap out of you," Vince snickered.

"Very supportive, best friend," TJ drawled in sarcasm.

"Yeah...so, are you going to help me with Gretchen?" Vince pouted his lip out, his eyes pleading, "Please, Teej, please..."

"Don't make that face," TJ groaned, "You look pathetic. I'll do what I can, but I don't know...I'm not asking her for you, if that's what you want. After the Marina McAllister incident..." Vince scowled. That was a painful memory. Sixth grade, Vince had a serious crush on a pretty seventh grader, one Marina McAllister. He asked TJ to go over and talk to her, as an envoy of sorts. The direct result was TJ and Marina were suddenly going steady and Vince wasn't talking to him, and refused to for somewhere around a week. It had been a bad experience for both boys, though TJ had gotten his first girlfriend, and more importantly, his first romantic kiss from the event. Of course, the situation had taught both boys a valuable lesson. TJ was a horrible liaison.

"No. I just...I want to make it romantic, when I ask her...I have a lot of plans, but none of them sound any good. And I thought my good buddy, infamous for his plan making abilities..." Vince trailed off leaving TJ to figure out the rest.

"Fine. I'll think of something," TJ sighed, as he broke off from Vince down a different hallway towards his class.

"Thanks, I owe you!" Vince called after him, "See you at lunch."

"Yeah, man," TJ mumbled, something not sitting right in his stomach. This kind of thing could ruin a perfectly good friendship if not handled correctly, TJ knew that.

-0-0-

TJ walked to the familiar wall of lockers after the final bell of the day tolled, releasing the students to sweet freedom. He stopped beside an open locker, not sure what to say or do.

"Hey, Spin," he greeted nervously. The locker door slammed shut and he jumped. She hadn't been at lunch, neither had Gretchen, which had him suspicious. Now, the suspicions were gone and all that was left was obvious confirmation of his worst fears. Spinelli was not happy with him. She stared at the closed locker, her jaw set firm, her eyes narrowed, her body held tense. She looked like she was considering something. Probably considering hitting him. TJ didn't like that prospect.

"I heard you were going to the dance with Gloria Thompson. I'm surprised it wasn't on the front page of the school paper," she finally said, and TJ noted the quaver in her voice. She was more than mad, she was more than furious; she was upset. This really had her bothered.

"Oh..." TJ mumbled, looking to his feet for support, "Um...she asked me...and after this morning..."

"I don't care," Spinelli spat, "Go with her if you want. I hope you have a nice time." She turned on her heel, leaving TJ behind a little wary at the idea of following her.

"I didn't want to go with her," TJ muttered to the tile, "I wanted to go with you."

"Spinelli was in the girls' bathroom." TJ didn't need to turn; he knew it was Gretchen, "Ever since she heard. We have Gloria in P.E." TJ shrunk against the lockers, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. "Gloria practically made an announcement over the P.A. system in her jubilation. She said that by Friday night you and her would be going steady. She sounded really confident, too...she was saying a lot of things. Like for instance, she's seen you looking at her in the hallway."

"That's not true," TJ protested.

"Yeah, I know," Gretchen slunk her arm over TJ's shoulders, "But Spinelli doesn't know that. You have no idea how self-conscious she is about this whole thing. She doesn't even know where she stands with you..."

"What? She's the one going around telling people were friends," TJ shook his head, "I'll call Gloria, tell her I can't...make up some lie. It's not worth losing Spin over..."

"You can't do that," Gretchen sputtered, "You'll crush the girl. It took a lot of guts for her to come up and ask you to take her to the dance. I know..."

"Whose side are you on, Gretchen? Spinelli's or Gloria's?"

"Look, all I'm saying is that you can't stand up Gloria, it wouldn't be right," Gretchen rolled her eyes, "Just talk things out with Spinelli."

"Why can't I just explain things to Gloria?"

"Because, Gloria doesn't like Spinelli as it is. How do you think she'll take the news that you, a guy she has a little more than a childish infatuation with, are choosing Spinelli over her?"

"What do you think Gloria will do, huh? Beat Spin up?" TJ nearly laughed at that notion.

"Girls are a tad bit more malicious than that, TJ. And need I remind you that Gloria is friends with the Ashleys?"

"Man...what'll I do?" Gretchen patted his shoulder as she left down the hallway.

-0-0-

Spinelli slumped on Gretchen's bed beside Mikey, who himself was sprawled out over the mattress.

"I could kill him, you know," she said in a harsh whisper, "I could ring his neck." She wiped at her cheeks absently. She'd been crying. She hated to cry. It hurt.

"Let me do your hair, Spin," Mikey said, with a hiccup. He'd had a little to drink. He was a bit red in the cheeks, and wore a sedate grin. Spinelli set her own drink down, a brown beer bottle. Gretchen was sitting in her wicker chair staring disdainfully at her own Pear wine cooler, half-empty. All the alcohol they had consumed that evening had been salvaged from the far back of the Spinelli fridge. Her house was the perfect choice for this type of social get together as her parents were rarely home. They trusted their darling honor roll; class Valedictorian, genius of a daughter.

"What for?" Spinelli demanded. He'd sat up and was running his fingers through her messy locks. He pulled out the elastic that held the strands together in a ponytail and they swished over her shoulders.

"I want to. Besides, I need the practice. I'm hair and make-up for the theatre production of Romeo and Juliet. An interesting choice, don't you think? The most beautiful and tragic of love stories, in honor of Valentine's Day," Mikey answered as he motioned for Gretchen to pass him the brush. He wasn't certain he could make it across the room. It wasn't that he was a heavy drinker, so much that he wasn't. Half a bottle of beer and he's wasted.

"Did you try out for the play this time?" Spinelli asked, letting him run the prongs of the brush through her hair and closing her eyes. It was calming really, like he was messaging her scalp. He was silent. She knew what that meant. "Mikey!" she snapped, "You have to try out next time. You're a damned better actor than any of those douches on stage. Besides, it's starting to scare me how good you're getting at doing a girl's hair and make-up."

"I don't know, Spin," Mikey mumbled, "I'm too clumsy. I forgot my lines that one time..."

"Are you talking about the Snow White production in kindergarten? You were five, Mikey," Spinelli muttered.

"I only had one line!"

"I should ask Walker to the dance," Gretchen finally gargled from her seat as she took another steady sip from her drink.

"Walker? Not _Ralph_ Walker...are you kidding me? King of Zit-dom?" Spinelli cried, incredulously, "Now _he_ should be going with little Miss Gloria Thompson. Where does that bitch get off anyways? And TJ...I don't care...I don't..."

"Spinelli, it's your own fault, you know," Mikey mused and Gretchen's brow perked. He was the only one who could get away with that type of speculation around Spinelli.

"How do you figure?" she growled.

"Well, if you wanted TJ to ask you to the dance, then you should have watched what you said," Mikey clucked, working on a particularly thick knot, "Don't you ever brush your hair?"

"I would, except it cuts into my sleep time," Spinelli mumbled distractedly, "What do you mean watched what I said? And I never wanted TJ to ask me to the dance...I just...well, why's he got to go with _Gloria_?"

"He's trying to make you jealous," Mikey concluded.

"He wanted to go with you to the dance, Spinelli," Gretchen agreed, "But after what you said this morning, about how you didn't want to go to the dance, and that the school dances are lame...you really need to start thinking before you speak."

"What? But I always say that kind of crud about the school dances...seriously, they're lame," Spinelli pouted, looking to the floor, "It doesn't matter if he goes on dates with other girls. It's not like I'm wearing his pin, or nothing..."

"You should go to the dance," Mikey commented, finishing with the knot and returning to smoothing out the dinks in Spinelli's rat's nest.

"Why? I don't care...he can do what he wants," Spinelli snarled, and then frowned at the plush white carpet. She took a gulp of her beer.

"Oh, but you do. He's doing this to make you jealous, and you're eating it all up," Mikey chuckled, "But you could always turn the tables on him. Go to the dance. Of course, you have to look drop dead gorgeous when you walk through the doors of that gym, kind of like Cinderella."

"Oh, Drew Barrymore style!" Gretchen threw in, "You'll show up like an angel and stun everyone in the room, and Gloria will...she'll..."

"Eat her heart out," Mikey suggested.

"Stew in her own juices," Gretchen laughed.

"You guys...I don't know..."

"What's there to know?" Mikey argued, "Gretchen and I can handle the clothing and make-up, you just need to get a date."

"'Cause they're lining up around my house," Spinelli said with biting cynicism.

"You could go with me," Mikey joked, then took Spinelli's beer and gulped it down, falling back on the bed, "Not like I have a date."

"That's what you get for trying to infiltrate the Ashley fortress," Gretchen sympathized.

"The last time...I swear...popular girls...they're all the same. I thought that maybe this time there was something more there but...not ever again..." he hiccupped. Spinelli laid her head on his belly.

"My poor, big, foolish, lummox," she cooed affectionately. He smiled slightly.

"Is that a yes?" Spinelli rolled her eyes, sitting up again. "Come on, Spinelli. Let me make you the bell of the ball. Please?" She sighed, her shoulders hunched, hair falling in her face.

"Fine. If only to see the look on that bitch's face." There was a sound in the driveway and Gretchen was on her feet at once, scanning out the window.

"My parents are home, ditch the booze!" In a rush, they had all the bottles in Gretchen's bathroom, hidden beneath the sink. Gretchen ran some toothpaste over her teeth and swished some mouthwash before throwing the tube and bottle to her friends and racing down the stairs.

"Hey mom," they heard her greeting while tending to the alcohol stench on their own breaths. "What are you doing home so early?"

"Just picking up some papers. Have you done your homework?"

"Yup. All my homework is done for the remainder of the week." There was a loud thump as Mikey stumbled to the floor.

"Is someone upstairs..."

"Yeah, Mikey and Spinelli are over. We were working on a project, for school."

"Okay...um...here are my papers. I'll see you later. I love you." The front door opened, and shut. And Gretchen was back upstairs, her face splotchy red and white.

"What in the four hemispheres are you two doing up here?" Gretchen stammered. Mikey was on the floor rolling with laughter, Spinelli having tripped on top of him in her attempt to help him up, was laughing too. Gretchen put her hands on her hips, letting a smile crease her lips. "No more drinking for the night, alright? You two are drunk."

"We're drunk?" Spinelli sputtered, sitting up and attempting to look serious and offended, "I am not drunk." And then burst into giggles again.

-0-0-

Vince tapped the counter slightly, frowning at the salesclerk ringing up his order. There was a brown bag between them. Vince mentally ran through the checklist in his mind. Roses, he could only afford three. Box of chocolates...does Gretchen like chocolates, he wondered. Milk and eggs, for his mother. He'd thought of getting the stuffed bear, but decided against it. He didn't want to appear too cheesy. And a card, he'd spent nearly two hours standing at the card aisle, reading each and every paper cut out. From lyrical poetry, to cartoon laughter, to childish drawings of honeybees imprinted on the inside with the words "Bee Mine". They were all so lame. TJ was right to hate Valentine's Day so much. The only good thing was the candy you might possibly receive.

Buy her something nice. That's what TJ had said. You'll want to have something to give her when you ask her to the dance. That was TJ's explanation. Like in all those romance movies. The dance was two days away. Vince wanted to ask her at school, TJ suggested not to, but it was one of those things Vince was stuck on.

"Will that be all?" the clerk asked.

"Yeah," Vince mumbled.

"Did you find everything okay?"

"I've lived here my whole life, Doug, I have the whole store memorized by heart."

"I have to ask the question, Vince. Why do you kids always give me a hard time about it?"

"Kids, you're only three years older than me," Vince argued. The clerk shook his head, pushing the bag over.

"This all for your girlfriend?" he asked.

"No," Vince muttered, taking the bag, "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, man. Tear up that basketball court, will 'ya? I got money riding on next week's game," the clerk called after him. Vince shook his head, stepping outside and drawing his jacket tighter about him. He slowed down when he passed Kelso's, noticing TJ and Gus sitting at the bar. TJ was sulking, that was obvious, and Gus was on break, his Kelso's apron slung over his shoulder. Vince shifted the bag in his arms, considering joining them for a moment. Kelso could put his bag in the fridge in the back, to keep the milk and eggs cool. He shook his head. His mom was waiting for him. He tapped the front window and both boys inside stirred. He waved to them, they waved back, and he broke into a light jog down the road.

Gretchen was outside, taking out the garbage. There was a dampness hanging in the air. It was going to rain. Vince paused. She wasn't wearing any make-up, which was rare these days. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and she was wearing sweats. He smiled. Vince had surpassed her in height sometime before, but they were still fairly similar in size. She hadn't really developed much of a body like Spinelli had, though both girls were still on the thin side. She had her glasses on, another rare event as she had taken to wearing contacts. Vince still liked how she looked in the glasses. She disappeared back in her house, and Vince sighed, glancing inside his grocery bag. If she turned him down he wasn't sure how he'd take it.

Vince made his way into his house. Setting the brown bag on the counter in the kitchen and emptying its contents. He thought of calling his brother, Chad, who was away at University. They talked as often as possible. Still remaining as close as ever. Chad would have suggestions on what to do with Gretchen. He could tell Vince what to talk with her about, all the nerd stuff. Vince sighed, placing the milk and eggs, as well as the roses and chocolates in the refrigerator and racing upstairs with his things. He needed to fill out the card he'd gotten and think things through. He'd call TJ later, hope that the line wasn't busy. Nighttime was usually when TJ talked with Spinelli on the phone, and it was understood that they wanted to keep the lines free in case one or the other decided to call early.

After what happened at school, though, Vince was certain TJ and Spinelli would not be having their talk that night.

-0-0-

TJ tapped his foot on the sidewalk, eyeing Gretchen making her way up the walk. He turned in to glance Vince, standing by her locker, fiddling with the combination lock. TJ did not want to be a part of this. He wasn't in the mood to be helping set up his friends with one another when his relationship was on such a rocky landslide. He'd tried calling Spinelli several times the night before. He finally gave up when Bob Spinelli picked up the phone and yelled at him for calling so late, saying Spinelli was already asleep and he'd have to talk to her in the morning. So TJ had waited that morning for her to come to their corner, where they always met to walk to school together. She never showed up. He went to her house and Flo kindly told him that Spinelli had asked her father for a ride.

"Hello, TJ." He nearly jumped out of his skin, shocked from his reflections. He looked to Gretchen with a forced smile.

"Hey, Gretch..." There was something different about her. She was smiling, a huge, overjoyed, goofy grin. "What are you so happy about?"

"Well...I took a leaf from Gloria's book and asked Walker to the dance," she explained, her smile widening, which TJ hadn't thought was possible, "He said he'd wanted to ask me out but couldn't get the guts...I feel so random! Like a real girl of the nineties! Taking charge and what not..." TJ felt his stomach sink. She went to the door at the front of the school and he practically leapt in her way.

"Maybe you should go around the other way...I heard there was an accident...a...uh...some kid got sick and...I suggest you go around back," TJ stuttered, searching through his various excuses and lies stored in his mind for just-in-case emergencies like this one.

"I have to go to my locker, TJ," Gretchen protested, with a frown, "Besides, there are kids in there. Are you sure someone vomited? Even so, I'm sure the janitorial staff would have been informed, and there doesn't appear to be anyone...and there's Vince. He said he had to ask me something this morning, as it is. I assume he had trouble with his homework again. Can you imagine? If Walker and I start going steady...well...you guys will all have to meet him, and he's so smart. I won't be the only one you guys have to go to for help..."

"That's great, Gretch..." TJ muttered, watching helplessly as she skipped into the hallway. There had to be something he could do, some way to get the message to Vince.

"Hi Gretchen," Vince smiled, pleasantly. She nodded to him, turning to her locker. He shifted slightly, sheepishly, "Can we talk?"

"About?"

"The dance..." Gretchen's eyes lit up immediately, she turned to Vince with her smile.

"Guess who's got a date to the dance," she exclaimed. Vince frowned.

"Well, I was hoping that I would have a date to the dance when this conversation was over," Vince mumbled. The smile on Gretchen's face diminished.

"Oh...Vince," she looked back to her locker, working on the lock. Vince saw TJ at the end of the hallway, waving his arms, shaking his head. This was not going according to plan.

"Well, I just thought if you had no one to go with..." Vince kept going, glancing at TJ once more, confused.

"Walker is taking me to the dance," she mumbled, "I'm sorry. But, I mean, why are you asking me? There are plenty of girls more than willing to go with you." Vince looked to his feet, wanting her to not open that locker, feeling foolish, and more specifically, heartbroken.

"I don't know...um...I just thought it would be a lot more fun if I went with a friend this year," he stammered. It was the best excuse he could come up with. The locker opened, his heart stopped.

"Roses...?" Gretchen stared at the little gifts neatly stacked in her locker, "Chocolates...?" She smiled, closed her eyes, "Walker...he's so sweet." Vince flushed, reaching over to the locker door and peeling off the card before she saw that as well.

"Wow, he's a great guy," he mumbled, stuffing the incriminating paper in his pocket.

"Yes. No one's ever given me flowers before..." she said, lifting one of the roses to her nose, her cheeks bright red, "I really like him, Vince. I've never felt so giddy, before." She turned, lowering her eyes, "I'm sorry." Her eyes went wide, and she gently touched his shoulder, "You could ask Spinelli! She needs someone to take her to the dance..."

"Spinelli? I thought she didn't want to go to the dance?"

"Uh...she didn't. I just thought it would be great if we all went this year," Gretchen lied. If she told Vince, there was no doubt TJ would find out, "Never mind."

"I'll find someone...don't worry," Vince muttered, brushing by her, "I'll see you later, Gretch."

"Sure. No hard feelings, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Vince turned slightly, smiling, "I just thought...as friends...but hey, you have a date. Good luck with him."

"Thanks." She returned to her locker, obscuring the books she needed, and taking one of the roses with her down the hall. Vince slumped next to TJ.

"I tried to warn you..." TJ mumbled.

"Valentine's Day sucks," Vince groaned. TJ glanced down the hall eyeing Spinelli. She was talking with some guy who was grinning oddly at her. Trying to flirt, no doubt, probably asking her to the dance. He slammed the back of his head against the wall.

"Yup..."

-0-0-

The dances always took place in the school gym, which constantly reeked of rubber and sweat. The dance committee had a way of trying to do too much with their tiny budget, which left everything looking half done, mix themed, and hastily put together. There were balloons to one side of the gym, red and pink, and white and gold ones to the other side. A giant pink papier-mâché heart hung from the ceiling, but it was misshapen. The top wasn't exactly complete and the paint was uneven. On half of it one could still make out the newsprint beneath. There were little cut out hearts, and cupids scattered along the floor, and punch tables. All the punch was pink and red, but it was also probably spiked already. They had tried to put a giant cupid in the middle of the floor, but it hadn't been finished on time and they ran out of money. It was stored with the other dance décor screw-ups. The sound system in the gym sucked, and no one could ever make out the lyrics of whatever song was being played, but the echo of the large room usually made the music unrecognizable anyways.

_It looks like cupid threw up in here._ TJ smirked, and thought of repeating Spinelli's snide comment to Gloria. Of course, then he remembered she was on the dance committee and held his tongue. She was wearing a pink dress, sleek and spaghetti strapped. It hugged tightly to her body. Silver glimmer shined her eyes; she was wearing bright pink lip-gloss, and light blush flushed her pale cheeks. She wasn't bad to look at; she just wasn't who he'd like to be looking at.

"There are some of my friends," Gloria exclaimed, taking TJ's hand and dragging him through the crowd. It didn't fit. Her hand. It didn't feel right in his hand. He sighted Gretchen with her date. They were smiling, laughing. Vince was standing across the room with his date, a pretty young woman, a popular girl. He was glowering in Gretchen's direction while his date talked with her friends, ignoring him all together.

"Hey Gloria," a short blonde woman, Megan exclaimed. She flushed when TJ nodded to her, "Hi..." she murmured. He recognized the other girls as well. Susie, Marne, and Claire.

"He's so cute," he heard Susie whisper quietly to Gloria, "Has he asked yet?"

"No, shush..." she whispered, "TJ, you know my friends."

"Yeah," he muttered distractedly. He saw Gus coming in through the doors with his date, a short young girl with frizzy brown hair wearing a wool dress with a white collar and puffy sleeves. The skirt came down to her ankles, and was plaid color. She had thick glasses to rival Gus's, and wasn't extremely attractive. She was kind of cute, TJ decided. She was the daughter of one of Gus's father's friends, and Gus was sort of obligated to take her to the dance.

"Where's your date, Megan?" Gloria asked.

"Oh...he called, said his grandmother was sick. He had to go sit with her...isn't that sweet?" TJ rolled his eyes. He saw Mikey come in, make his way over to Gretchen and whisper something in her ear. He pointed to the doorway and TJ followed the movement.

It was almost a movie moment, the light cascading around her silhouette. Like an angel, she was dressed in white, a sleek sleeveless lace dress with a layer of uneven skirt, coming just above her knees. There was lace detached from the dress crawling down her arms. She looked lost, jaded, afraid. Black hair falling in messy jelled stings about her face. Her black boots were gone, replaced with soft flat shoes. A few people noticed her at first, and then the room was silent, still, watching her for a moment. She'd always held the potential to stop traffic.

"Spinelli...?" TJ murmured in confusion. There was no possible way that the girl he'd known since childhood would dress that way.

"What is she doing here?" he faintly heard one of Gloria's friends demand, "She looks ridiculous. I thought the little wallflower never went to dances, like she's making a statement or something...does she even have a date?" And as if on cue, the young man TJ had seen her talking to in the hallway came up behind her, placing his arm on her shoulder and leading her away. Things resumed as normal in the gym, dancing, and laughter. But the students' eyes followed the ugly duckling with silent nods of approval from the boys and snarls of aghast from the girls.

"I'd like to see her dance," another one of Gloria's friends chuckled, "That would be pure comedy there..."

"Why's she wearing white, like she's pure or something..." that was probably Susie. TJ saw Mikey and Gretchen walking by, catching a snip of their conversation.

"You have outdone yourself, Mikey," Gretchen was saying.

"It's easy when your subject is already so beautiful," he paused, looking Gretchen over, "Speaking of beautiful potential subjects..." TJ frowned. What were they up to?

"I'm going to the restroom, real quick," Gloria whispered to TJ, shaking him back to his date, "I'll be right back." TJ nodded, watching her and a few of her friends depart. The remaining friends went into conversation, glancing at him every so often with flushed cheeks and giggling softly. He frowned, waited a moment before locating Spinelli sitting on the bleachers, her date nowhere in sight. He slipped through the crowd in her direction, making his way onto the bleachers behind her, he hoped, unnoticed. She hunched her shoulders slightly, folding her arms in her lap.

"Where's your date?" she asked, not bothering to turn.

"Do you have a sixth sense...or can you just smell me coming or something?" TJ demanded, settling into the seat next to her. She looked to the floor, to those petit shoes on her feet. She felt uncomfortable in them, in her whole outfit. "Where's _your_ date?" She didn't answer, looking up to the ceiling. So TJ went with a different approach. "Can I let you in on a secret?"

"What?"

"My date...she's not the one I wanted to come to this dance with."

"Oh?" Spinelli whispered, rearranging her skirt, "And who did you want to come with?"

"Spinelli," TJ sighed, turning to face her, "We need to talk." She looked at him, her jaw locked, her eyes wide, scared.

"Then talk."

"We have been dating for four months, it's time we lay down some ground rules," TJ said, taking a deep breath.

"Ground rules?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah. Ground rules." He grinned at her somewhat.

"Like what?"

"Like, from now on, you're my girlfriend, I'm your boyfriend," he said, "And, that is how we will be introduced. Got that?"

"Teej..."

"Laying out ground rules here, babe," TJ interjected, needless to say, he was getting into it, "And in the future, for dances, it will automatically be assumed that I will be asking you to go. If you don't want to go, then it will already be decided, that on those nights, we'll be going out somewhere together. That way, this..." TJ didn't have to explain what 'this' meant, "Will never happen again. Because I'll already have plans for that night, I won't be pushed in a corner when a girl asks me to the dance like Gloria did."

"We need to teach you how to say 'no', Teej," Spinelli mumbled, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," another deep breath, "I'm going to walk you to each of your classes, I'm going to be carrying your books, and if I want to hold your hand in the hallway, I'm gonna hold your hand."

"I'm perfectly capable of..."

"I know what you're capable of...painfully aware...but these are girlfriend, boyfriend things that I want to do with you. And that's what we are, Spin, boyfriend," he pointed to himself, "Girlfriend," took her hands, "And kissing. A hello and good-bye kiss is expected. And any other kisses we feel are necessary in-between."

"What about PDA rules?"

"The way I see it..." TJ smirked at her cheekily, "It's only a crime, if you get caught."

"Oh..." she smiled, entwining her hand within his.

"Um...TJ..." they turned to look at Gloria, standing before them. She was scowling at Spinelli, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I was wondering...did you want to dance...I mean, it's a dance...and...I am your date," that last bit was directed bitingly towards Spinelli.

"Well...actually, I was hoping maybe..." TJ shrugged, slipping an arm over Spinelli's shoulders, "I could have a dance with my girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?" Gloria pouted, "You're here with me, TJ." He stood up, coming close enough to speak in a quieted voice.

"I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have come with you to this dance," he whispered, glancing to Spinelli who stared blushingly at her hands lying in her lap. "I used you, Gloria, and I'm really sorry." She shook her head, storming off. She paused in front of Spinelli, glowering down her nose.

"Bitch," she muttered, before maneuvering through the crowd with tear filled eyes. Spinelli followed her with a glare, her hand tightening into a fist.

"Spin," TJ mumbled, sitting next to her again. She turned to face him and he brushed his lips against hers. She sat, a bit stunned for a moment, as she always did after they kissed, blush creeping across her cheeks. Her eyes snapped open, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"If you think you're setting all the ground rules, Teej, you're wrong...I'm going to be setting a few of my own..."

"But yours are never fun," TJ argued, taking her hand and dragging her to the dance floor. He took her in his arms, receiving odd looks from those around them, "Spin, you look..."

"Blame it on Mikey," she interrupted, "Because if I had any say in this...I wouldn't look like...such an idiot."

"You don't look like an idiot, Spinelli," TJ reassured her, resting his chin on her shoulder, "You're doing a good job making me look like an idiot. I'd say let's never fight again..."

"But fighting is inevitable in our case..." she finished for him and he brushed his lips against her neck.

"And you're so beautiful when you're mad," he mumbled. Spinelli sighed, seeing Vince.

"Poor guy," she whispered.

"Huh?"

"I heard that he tried to ask Gretchen to the dance," Spinelli said, sinking deeper into TJ's hold.

"Yeah."

"Those roses were from him, weren't they?"

"The chocolates too...how'd you know?"

"Mikey figured it out," she explained, pulling forward to look into TJ's eyes, "I don't like Walker. He's a dork. He tutored me in history...jeez, if anyone can make you feel like an idiot..."

"I could have tutored you in history," TJ said, a little hurt that she hadn't come to him.

"TJ, your grade's worse than mine. I should tutor _you_ in history." He smirked.

"I like that idea." Which received him a sharp jab to the ribs. "Ow."

"Keep your mind out of the gutter, _boyfriend_," she snarled, "I've got brothers, and I'm not afraid to use them." TJ caught her behind the neck, pulling her into a kiss.

"I guess this makes you my first Valentine," he murmured against her lips.

"Uh...huh..." She laid her head on his shoulder.

"Hey, what happened to _your_ date?"

"I told him to beat it," Spinelli shrugged.

"You knew this would happen...you knew I would..."

"I had no idea..." she protested in all innocence. She sighed, looking to Vince, "Should we talk to him?"

"He'll get over it," TJ whispered, brushing her hair from her face, "I'm with my girlfriend. You know...I really love saying that...Hey, what are we going to do on the actual Valentine's Day? I have dinner in mind...maybe another trip to the playground..."

-0-0-0-0------------------Present Time---------------------0-0-0-0-

The waitress came back to our table, frowning at the mess I had made of the napkin. She took the plates and refilled my coffee cup, which Vince had polished off. He stirred in some sugar and cream, and for a time the clacking of the spoon against the glass mug was the only sound between us.

"We went to see Mikey," he finally said.

"Oh..." I fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, "How's he doing?"

"He'd feel better if you came to see him."

"I don't know, Vince. He lives on the other side of town and..."

"I could give you a ride." I shifted through the pile of napkins, focusing entirely upon it. "I heard you got in a car on your..." He trailed off.

"Date?" I suggested.

"Yeah," Vince stared at the cup in front of him blankly, "Was it so bad? Going on a date?"

"No," I muttered grumpily, "It was the going on a date with someone who wasn't Spinelli that was the bad part." We were silent.

"I know it's hard, TJ..."

"We've been over this, Vince." He fell quiet, pushing the coffee cup away.

"Maybe if you went on a double date with one of us," he spoke up finally, "Would it make it easier on you."

"Yeah, and I've got an idea. Dress her up in baggy jeans and a tee shirt, put a black wig on her head, and give her some black boots. That might make it easier too," I snapped. He winced. It was harsh, but they weren't getting the message. "I don't want to move on, Vince. I don't want to date other girls, and forget the girl I love. I want my wife back, Vince. But you can't give me that, so stop trying."

"Well, I want you to smile again, TJ," Vince shot back, "I want to hear you laugh again. I want you to drive again! Remember when you got your license? Remember how excited you were, how proud? You came and picked us all up and you just drove us around. Remember?" he slammed the table and the people in the small café jumped, the woman behind him, the bottle-blonde, turned again in shock, all eyes on us, "A car is not a plane, TJ."

"You don't understand..."

"No, I don't understand," Vince sighed, "Why is this always the conversation with you? We used to be able to talk about other things. Ask me how I'm doing on the field, joke about my teammates with me, be the center of attention again for crying out loud, TJ!"

"What does it matter?" I whispered, "Either way...she's dead. I don't want to try anymore, Vince. I don't have a reason."

"Aren't your friends a reason?" Vince shook his head, staring away, I couldn't see the tears brimming his eyes behind those glasses, but I knew they were there, "We need you, Teej. We need _you_, not this, not some sulking jerk. Mikey nearly died of a drug overdose. Gus isn't talking to him. Gretchen had an emotional breakdown at work. I can't pitch worth shit anymore, Teej...we lost Spinelli. We lost her...she's gone...and it gets harder day-by-day, having to come to terms with it. We can't keep it together if we lose you, Teej."

"I'm already gone, Vince," I mumbled, lifting myself from the table, "I'm sorry." I threw some cash on the table and made my way to the front door.

"Mikey's going to kill himself if we don't do something," Vince called after me, and I paused. The thought a harrowing reminder of my responsibilities to the gang. "We're going to have a...one of those meeting things..."

"I'll only make it worse, Vince," I muttered, "I'll only bring everyone down." I slipped from the café without another sound, walking down the street. I only ever make things worse.

* * *

END A/N: Alright....

Who liked the scene where Spinelli came in through the door? Who thought it was extremely cheesy?

_**REVIEW**_!

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

THANKS for READING. Another piece of advice: Watch reruns of Boy Meets World (It was the best show ever made, after all).


	9. With Flowers Come Buds

A/N: They reformated the big text box inserting things...nifty, in an annoying way.  Errrr.....this chapter took so long to get up, and you can imagine how much longer the next chapter of WSL is going to take seeing as how I...um...ahe...haven't even started it yet...ahem.

Thanks to the reviewers:

RavenForever: Yeah...the dance was extremely corny.  But it's good to be soft...right?  And I always just want to hug TJ anyways, angsty, happy cheerful; he seems like he'd be fun to hug.  As usual, don't ask.

xXxSarahxXx: Yup.  I know what it feels like to write a really impressive review and then lose it.  It really sucks.  Just write a really long review for this chapter (grin!).  You love Shawn, huh?  Yup, you and every other girl who was a teenager when the show first came out.  'Cept maybe me.  I was in love with Eric (Will Friedle).

SteffieWitter96: It was long enough, but write a longer one this time just to see if you can...hehe...j/k, write what you want, and I will read it and revel in it, and long for more.  And yes, I am insane.  The flashbacks are my favorite part to write, because Spinelli's still alive in them, which means everybody's not unhappy and miserable and angsty; I get to work with more of a range of emotions.  Not to mention, fluffy scenes between TJ and Spin.  God...I don't remember when I first started watching Boy Meets World...jeez, that was a long time ago...

TNPD: u

DAGL: hehe...we are tigers!  Yeah, I don't much care for the cereal either.  Didn't offend you, did I?

iluvdanbyrd: She was married to TJ, she had to go.  I don't what else to say...besides, thanks for leaving WSL for a slight moment and reading this story!

Soul-of-Camida: Why does everyone poke me?  Is it because I'm so touchy about it?  Is it because I'm large and my fat rolls like a bowl full of jell-o?  I exaggerated that last bit...my you are a multi-tasker...I can barely talk on the phone...period.  I am a humble master of emotions, keep reading and reviewing, and I'll keep reading.  And when do you plan on posting your own Recess fics, because if there's one thing there can never be enough of, it's Recess fanfics.

Aww...my father is threatening me right now...something having to do with napkins in the bathroom...long story.  Um...yeah, I've been having trouble with writing motivation.  No writer's block, well actually, in the case of WSL, yes I do have a slight bit of writer's block, but no need to worry.  Just as soon as I start writing it, everything will flow out.  My mind's just skyrocketed to other things, like my next fanfic projects, and homework that I should more or less be doing.  I have essays to write for anthropology...extra-credit paper in Philosophy...I'm failing philosophy (I think...)

Mmm...I guess I'm going to promise a little twist in story-telling in the last chapter of this...yup, a twist.  Betcha can't wait.  Check out my bio to see my upcoming projects, if you dare...no really, go check 'em out.  I want you to get excited, or bored, or something...I spend a good deal of time writing stuff there so...

Monkman says wrap it up, SD, so...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 8: With Flowers Come Buds 

Mikey knew why they were all there. His father, his friends, Gretchen, Vince, and Gus, his agent Lucille, his manager Manny, Carlos Svaldi a director friend, and the woman Mikey didn't know, who was introduced as Dr. Sylvia Moreno. They were all gathered in his living room wearing exceptionally somber faces. He knew what they all wanted, but he didn't want to say it. He wanted them to say it, to give their little speech about how they loved and cared for him; because maybe then, he would feel their words, and feel that it was true, and he would suddenly be healed.

"What are you all doing here?" he grinned. He'd had a little something to drink before they had arrived. Just a few shots of tequila, three bourbons, and he was holding a bottle of Bacardi in his hand when they walked in. Sure it was the middle of the day, but in the Michael Blumberg estate, it was never too early to crack open a bottle of booze. He usually accompanied the alcohol with a small fix, but his agent has confiscated all his "stash", and he'd only just gotten off the phone with his feel good "doctor"

"Mikey," Gretchen began, and Mikey's grin widened. He knew things were serious when Gretchen spoke for the group. "We're all here because we're very worried about you. Because we love you, and care about what happens to you."

"That's very touching," Mikey hiccupped, tipping back his drink, letting it slide down his throat. Wouldn't want the buzz to end, no sir-e. "Was that all? I love and care about all of you too. Now that that's settled..."

"It's _not_ settled," Vince gritted, and Mikey's grin faltered slightly. They're not supposed to be angry. That's not how it works. They're supposed to be supportive and heart wrenching. Not angry. Didn't they know how this was supposed to work?

"Now, Mr. LaSalle..." Dr. Moreno stepped in and Mikey's grin resumed its place. The doctor knows how this works, "He needs you to not be angry. Explain your feelings calmly."

"Alright...Mikey, I feel like yelling and calling you an idiot," Vince said his voice somewhat shaky, but steady, "You're ruining your life Mikey, and frankly, it's slipping into ruining our lives."

"Sorry if my problems got in the way of your happiness, Vince," Mikey mumbled, now staring sadly at the ground. Nope. They weren't doing things right.

"Your problems are my problems, Mikey!" Vince cried, receiving a disapproving glower from Dr. Moreno.

"What Vince means is that you are a part of us, Mikey," Gretchen stepped in. Good ol' Gretchen, always covering the bumbling steps of the rest of the gang, "That...what happens to you directly affects all of us. When you...get drunk...or - is stoned the appropriate word? - in any case, it's as though you're doing it to all of us, and not just yourself."

"When you get hurt, Mikey," Mr. Blumberg spoke up, "We all feel it." Mikey frowned. His father wasn't looking at him. He was looking anywhere but.

"Hun..." Mikey crossed the room, his back to the group, "So this is the turnout of all those who love and care for me. I'd say it looks like a few people are missing...but I'm sure they have their reasons."

"Michael, you need help," Lucille mumbled, "There's this...this hospital that you can go to. They have a great rehab program and..."

"But what about my acting career?" Mikey demanded, spinning on them, splashing some of his beverage across the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Those things can be put on hold," Lucille argued, "It's still going to be there when you get out. It'll only be a short while...until you're better."

"But I'm fine," Mikey argued, "I told you, at the hospital, that I would never touch that stuff again. That I would be okay."

"Stuff?" Gus nearly choked on the word, "What about the 'stuff' you're holding in your hand? You reek of alcohol, _buddy_, and who were you on the phone with before...Lucille said you were calling someone, talking to someone. Who was that?"

"I...uh..." Mikey looked to the floor, "I can handle things."

"No, you can't," Gretchen spat, "Here are seven people, seven people who love you, with very compelling stories that say otherwise."

"I won't give it up! I don't have a problem!" Mikey screamed, "Get out of my house!"

"No," Mr. Blumberg said firmly, "No. You'll listen to us, because you have no other choice. Because you owe us that."

"For how long have you been doing this to yourself, Mikey?" Carlos whispered.

"I..."

"How long?"

"I was clean...I thought I was clean..." Mikey mumbled, "Three years...I think...about."

"For three years you've been lying to us?" Gus snarled, "Three years of broken promises, of late night incoherent phone calls, of excuse after excuse? What are you thinking, Mikey?"

"Maybe I wasn't thinking at all," Mikey shot back, "I can get away with anything, Gus, I've got money. I'm a big movie star..."

"That gives you no right..." Gretchen started.

"Oh, it gives me plenty of right to live however I goddamn well please," Mikey growled, smirking, "You all care so much about me, and I'm very touched. But you see, I'm disappointed too. None of you read your manuals, none of you read the how to have an intervention book, maybe you should of bought them Interventions for Dummies, doc, because they're no good at this."

"I know what it's like, son," Mr. Blumberg broke in, "I know what addiction feels like. It starts out as just a party thing, just a little shot up your arm, or a hit off the old pipe. I know what it feels like, crawling back time after time, to the party, where everyone knows your name. You have a bad trip, and swear off the 'stuff', but it calls you back again. You can't fight it...you feel as though you're head will explode if you don't escape a five-minute dry spell. Time gets shorter, and you need more. Soon, soon you won't be able to leave home without a quick fix; you can't go by another minute without a sniff or taste of the 'stuff'. I know what it feels like, Mikey. And it saddens me that now you know what it feels like."

"Dad..."

"And I know what it feels like to be in denial. To deny you have a problem, to claim you can quit anytime you want and believe it fully, because you can't believe otherwise or you'll lose that high."

"You don't get it, dad."

"Oh, but I do..."

"No, you don't. I know that I can't stop, and I don't want to," Mikey told them, scathingly, "I need this, because without it...without it...I'm nothing. I can't be happy, I can't act like I'm happy; I'm not that great an actor. This is all the people in the world who can claim to care about me...here in this room? It's odd...how nothing you can say matters as much as the absence of those I would have expected to see amongst you. I guess they didn't care as much." He pushed his way through to the front door, "If you guys won't leave, then I will." He flung the door open, and stepped back, his mouth dropping slightly. Eyes of hollow bore into him, shining with unshed tears and misery. He stepped back as the man stepped forward, shutting the door, eyes never leaving one another. A scowl played on that man's dry lips, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

"TJ...?" Gretchen whispered, stunned. The room stared blankly at the young man with curiosity and shock.

"I don't want to..." Mikey began, blubbering.

"Sit down, Mikey," TJ commanded, and Mikey obeyed, plopping onto a chair, "It's time we talked."

-0-0-0-0-----------------June 2003-------------------0-0-0-0-

TJ stared up at the small one-story flat, then looked to Spinelli who stood surveying the same building. A grin spread across his face. She had her hands on her hips, was squinting, frowning. He knew what she was seeing. Crap. A piece of crap. But he knew what he saw as well. Potential. This small house had the potential to be something more. It was, after all, the first house he would share with his wife, if, that is, all went according to plan.

"So...what do you think?" he finally broke the silence. She scowled slightly, looking to him and meeting his eyes.

"I don't know, Teej...it's kind of..." she glanced back to the house searching for a subtle word that stood for 'crap', "Shabby..." TJ just grinned, grabbing her hand and dragging her up the walkway to the door.

"You just have to see the inside. It's bigger than it looks. And the outside...well we can work on the outside. A paint job, a little attention to the front lawn. It's close to the school, and to work," TJ went on while he stopped at the porch, producing a key from his pocket and opening the front door. He had to push as there was some debris blocking the entrance, "The inside will take a little work too..." he said sheepishly.

"Nothing's settled yet, though, right?" Spinelli questioned, peering through the doorway into the small entryway that led directly to a large empty room. Light shone in, falling against the worn carpet and faded tile. There was a stiff smell in the air, as though the house hadn't been occupied in centuries. TJ frowned.

"I really like this place," he pouted, "I mean...it's not much to look at now, but with a little work. And...I mean, it's better then the apartments we've been looking at, and that dorm room. We can't keep living there, Spin, you know that."

"A _little_ work?"

"Well...it's a good neighborhood, Spinelli. I know, I checked into it. I brought you here to look into the foundation, the structural integrity, the electrical, the gas...you know, the stuff you're good at." TJ tugged at her arm, dragging her through the house, "There's two bedrooms...two bathrooms, one in the hallway, one in the master bedroom. You know, if we have a guest stay over or something...there's a kitchen, a _nice_ kitchen," TJ dragged her through to said rooms, "The kitchen has a stove, a dishwasher, an oven, a refrigerator. Not much...but it keeps food cold. There's a garage...I know that you want a place to do your thing, and with a garage you'll have more than enough space. There's a washer and dryer, too." Spinelli stopped, which dragged TJ to a halt as well. She wrapped her arms about his waist, looking up at him with a weary gaze.

"You really like this place?" she asked.

"I _really_ like this place," TJ confirmed. She smiled slightly.

"Alright...let's look at the wiring," she sighed, reluctantly letting him tug her to the garage, and more specifically, the electrical conduit. TJ waited patiently, watching as she opened the conduit and examined the different wires, sighing every now and then, lifting an eyebrow, and pushing the wires about.

"Well?" TJ finally spoke up. Spinelli frowned.

"It seems to be set up right..." she walked to the large metal tube that was the heater giving it a slight kick with her foot, before studying it more closely.

"Careful," a brusque man's voice boomed into the garage. They hadn't noticed him enter, the sprat, greasy man that practically pranced down into the garage, "That thing can get pretty darned hot, you might burn yourself there, little lady." Spinelli straightened tersely, taking a position beside TJ and setting a glower upon that man, who was, of course, the realtor Jerry Valmont.

"Mr. Valmont," TJ greeted, shaking hands with the greasy man.

"Mr. Dettweiler," the man acknowledged, then looking to Spinelli, "This must be the missus. And how are you today? My, you are pretty. You've caught yourself a real beauty here, Mr. Dettweiler, I'll give you that much. Have you shown her the kitchen?"

"I've seen the kitchen, thank you very much," Spinelli spat sourly.

"Ah...it's nice, big," Mr. Valmont said, his chest swelling, "A fine woman like yourself could make some awfully nice meals in there. I bet your husband here is quite fond of his hot food, don't doubt a man like him eats good big meals," he laughed, slapping TJ playfully on the shoulder. TJ chuckled slightly, awkwardly. Spinelli refused to crack so much as a pleasant smile. Mr. Valmont leaned back, lacing his thumbs in the belt loops of his pants, "Course, there's also the washer and dryer here, too. Nice and big there as well. The master bedroom is also fairly well equipped with a large closet space...place for a lot of shoes and nice clothes. Then there's the bathroom, which I'm certain you're interested in seeing as well, Mrs. Dettweiler. Then there's the backyard, nice space for a garden, a flower garden really, I knew the moment I saw you, now there's a woman like's her flowers..." Spinelli tapped her booted foot impatiently.

"Actually, Mr. Valmont, sir, I brought my wife here to run a standard maintenance checkup on the house," TJ cut in.

"Maintenance checkup..." Mr. Valmont mumbled, trying to piece it together, "Now why would a fair young woman like her bother with the maintenance checkup...I showed you the house, Mr. Dettweiler, and surely you could see that it was sound and safe, and all in working order," he broke into a hearty chuckle there, slapping TJ on the shoulder again, "I can see you're a real handy man, son, no doubt you like using your hands..."

"Actually, my wife is the handy one in the house hold. If she doesn't give the house an okay, I don't buy," TJ said, his tone taking a serious and subtly threatening note. Mr. Valmont frowned. Then, a smirk played across his lips. Obviously, he wasn't comprehending the statement to it's fullest, and felt he'd found a couple to dupe.

"Well, little lady," he clucked, "What do you think? A sturdy house, built in the late 70's, early 80's. Wiring's all up to code, foundation is unshakeable..."

"To be honest," Spinelli said, an equally amused smirk playing across her lips, "I'm a little concerned with the heater. You see, it's shot, and I'm thinking that you undoubtedly, just forgot to mention that to my cute, loveable, and oft times naïve husband. But, I don't think for one minute you won't hesitate to rectify that little mistake by maybe convincing your seller to drop a few hundred off the asking price."

"Excuse me..." Mr. Valmont stammered, "Heater...shot...how do you...?"

"What about the wiring, babe?" TJ asked, wrapping an arm about Spinelli's shoulders and giving her his full attention.

"It's decent, far as I can tell. I'll have to call Guido, have him come down, take a look at the plumbing but other than that..."

"Who's Guido?" Mr. Valmont butted in, a bit nervously.

"Her cousin," TJ explained, "Great plumber."

"A professional?" Mr. Valmont mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"As a hobby, yeah," Spinelli answered, looking about the garage, "I should probably call Joey too...to come look at the place himself. He'll want to, as it is."

"Who's Joey?" Mr. Valmont questioned, looking paler by the moment.

"Her brother," TJ explained with a shrug, "Great guy. Got us a wedding gift, only one in her immediate family to do so. Of course, Vitto was on a cross country motorcycle trip, so he didn't exactly receive word until he'd reached Reno."

"Who's Vitto, and more importantly, what's he coming to look at?" Mr. Valmont stuttered.

"My other brother," Spinelli shrugged, "And he's not exactly in town, so there's no way I could get him down here. Course, he may hop a plane and surprise us, show up on the doorstep to give the place a general rundown."

"Her brothers are pretty overprotective," TJ chuckled, "You should have seen them when she went to buy her first car."

"Oh, and maybe you could get your Uncle Sal down here to look around the house..." Spinelli suggested.

"Who's Uncle Sal?"

"He's an exterminator, can't be too careful," TJ shrugged.

"Okay, that's enough!" Mr. Valmont cried out in exasperation, "There's a little problem with the gas valve, a shortage in the hallway electrical circuit; yes, the heater is shot, I can get the seller to drop the asking price five hundred but that's _all_, and there's a small termite problem to the side of the house, but if you promise no uncles, no aunts, no cousins, no siblings, no relatives whatsoever, I will pay for that little problem to be fixed out of my own pocket!"

"What do you say to that Spinelli?" TJ turned to his wife.

"Now, I might mention before this discussion goes any further," Mr. Valmont interjected, "That, I have been having trouble selling this house, but I do have another interested buyer. I really like you two, so I'll tell you what..."

"Why don't 'ya shut up and let me think?" Spinelli snapped, and TJ smirked.

"Don't you just love her?" he grinned at Mr. Valmont who was frowning.

"She's a real...spitfire...that one," Mr. Valmont seethed.

"You really like this place, Teej?" Spinelli whispered, looking to her husband with skepticism.

"Yeah, I do, but if you don't think we should..." TJ mumbled eyeing her sheepishly. She sighed, kissing his cheek before turning back to Mr. Valmont with a scowl.

"Alright, let's talk about buying," she muttered and a smile wormed it's way back across Mr. Valmont's face.

"To the kitchen then..." he said, opening the door and ushering the couple into the house.

-0-0-

Mikey leaned against the window, watching as the world past. Home, it was so close now, he could almost smell the sweet fresh air, almost taste the Kelso's milkshake he was going to be downing in mere moments, almost feel the arms of his friends around him in a tight embrace. Home.

There was a slight jerk as the shuttle came to a halt, and someone brushed against Mikey. He sighed. He'd spent the last year and a half in New Orleans shooting for his first movie. His debut. It was exciting, to say the least, but he missed home. He waited as other passengers pushed their way past, picking up his duffel bag and shuffling out.

"There's the movie star!" he heard an excited squeal and a grin spread across his face. Arms flung about him and he caught a glimpse of red hair, quickly returning the hug.

"I missed you, Gretch," he whispered into her shoulder, feeling relief wash over him. Mikey glimpsed Vince walking over, a great grin spread across his face.

"How's it going, man?" Vince greeted, gently patting Mikey's shoulder. Gretchen pulled away, smiling up at him.

"Better, now that I'm home," Mikey said, sharing a quick embrace with Vince.

"My car's over this way," Vince said, leading them into the parking lot, "We're heading over to TJ and Spinelli's house."

"_House_?"

"Yup, they bought a house, can you believe it?" Gretchen explained, linking arms with Mikey, "Where's the rest of your bags?"

"Oh, I had them shipped home," Mikey told her, "Get back to the part where TJ and Spinelli bought a house, and why they didn't call and tell me?"

"They wanted us all to see it together. Gus is on his way home too. We're picking him up from the airport on our way over, do you mind?" Gretchen said.

"Not at all. But why couldn't they tell me over the phone?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Vince spoke up, "We only found out a day or so ago."

"They've been making plans," Gretchen shrugged, as they stopped outside of Vince's car and slipping inside of the vehicle. "We've been volunteered to help with the fixing up."

"Really?" Mikey muttered, not exactly surprised.

"Well, you can tell us all about your movie making experience while we spend hours in the sun painting their new house," Vince laughed, pulling out of the parking lot, "Tell us you have good stories."

"Yeah, I have plenty of good stories," Mikey replied, "But not as good as you guys probably have. I want to hear all the news, everything I missed while I was away."

"We told you everything on the phone..." Gretchen smiled.

"Well, I want to hear it all again. I missed you guys," Mikey laughed.

"_You_ missed _us_, Mikey? You were off having the time of your life, getting your career off the ground. _We_ missed _you_," Gretchen said, taking his hand in her own.

"It's so good to be home," Mikey sighed, grinning despite himself.

-0-0-

TJ leaned over the kitchen counter, smiling down at his wife sitting on the floor in the living room sorting through the box in front of her. She'd been up early that morning. She put the finishing touches on the living room, which they'd painted the night before, and had directed the movers when they'd arrived. The yelling had woken TJ up. She was stressed, TJ could tell, and it was a stressful period in their lives. They'd had a little trouble with the loan, what with no co-signers with better credit, until, that is, Vince's parents, the LaSalles stepped in. Spinelli had spent the better half of a week replacing the heater in the garage, which hadn't been easy with their small budget. She'd had to pull strings; a cousin of hers was the owner of a hardware store in Philadelphia and was more than happy to help her out.

"You need any help?" TJ asked. He'd been cleaning the kitchen out, a grueling task. There was a giant stain spanning over several tiles on the floor, and TJ was beginning to feel the urge to rip up the entire floor tile and replace them with new ones.

"No," she muttered, wiping her brow heatedly, and falling back on the floor, her eyes rolling to meet his, "I'm tired of working." She grinned slyly, "The others aren't due here for another hour..."

"Spin...we have things to get done before they get here, you know that..." TJ argued, miserably holding her gaze. She was wearing an old flannel shirt that had a habit of coming unbuttoned at the top, jeans fraying at the bottom from worn use, barefoot. Which only made her suggestion all the more tantalizing.

"I'm _tired_ of working, TJ!" she whined, "I got no love last night..."

"You past out on the bed, Spinelli, before I even got in!"

"You're working me like a dog _and_ you're holdin' out on me?" she whimpered, rolling onto her side, make out with me..."

"No," TJ moaned, turning back into the kitchen.

"I'm gonna cheat on you!"

"So long as we get this done." He frowned at the tile with its stain, turned, and walked to the living room, slumping on the floor beside Spinelli. "I'm tired of working, too."

"My poor baby," Spinelli mumbled, wrapping her fingers in his collar and dragging him down into a kiss.

"You still gonna cheat on me?"

"Depends..." she smiled, "The guy would have to be a lot cuter than you..."

"Which we both know has been scientifically proven impossible..."

"Or better in bed..."

"Which you'd only find out if you actually went through with cheating on me in the first place, which takes us back to the first condition, which, as we've already concluded, is impossible," TJ deduced, casually working at the buttons of Spinelli's shirt.

"Ah, but there is the rumor mill," Spinelli grinned, squirming beneath his touch and accepting another kiss.

"Shouldn't we be going to our room?" he murmured against her neck.

"What for?"

"You want to do this here?"

"Why not?"

"I could think of a few reasons..." Spinelli pulled him into another kiss, deepening it ever so slightly, "But none as good as that..." Her hands slipped beneath TJ's shirt, tugging it over his head, just as the doorbell rang. They sighed, falling back disappointed.

"I'm killing whoever's at that door," Spinelli seethed, pulling herself up and heading for the entryway as TJ pulled his shirt back on. She frowned at the four bright and smiling faces standing on the porch, "You're early," she informed them through gritted teeth.

"Oh, yeah...I took an earlier flight," Gus chuckled, "Couldn't wait to get here. It's great being home, back with the gang."

"Spinelli," Gretchen whispered, as the boys pushed past to find TJ, "Were you going to take a shower before we got here? I mean, what with us being early, we must have thrown off your schedule...you are a little dirty."

"Not as dirty as I was gonna be in a few minutes," Spinelli muttered, closing the door as Gretchen walked past.

"You guys have trouble finding the place?" TJ asked, wrapping his arms about Spinelli as she joined him.

"No, but then, we do know this neighborhood like the back of our hands," Vince shrugged, glancing around the room, "So, this is the place?"

"Yup," TJ grinned.

"I like it," Mikey announced, "With a little elbow grease it'll be quite cozy, your own little nook. I like the layout..."

"It's quite a vision," Gretchen agreed, "I know that if two people can make it a home, it's you two."

"Thanks, Gretch, Mikey," TJ nodded to them.

"How much did you pay for it?" Vince asked, surveying the living room with a wary eye. His gaze fell on the kitchen, "Now that's a nice stove." He waltzed in, flicking one of the switches and igniting one of the burners, "Gas range, not messing around with that electric crap...four burners, and a broiler. Big oven space, come Thanksgiving you can fit a twenty-five, thirty pound turkey in there...this come with the house?"

"Uh...yeah..." TJ mumbled, then with hopeful eyes, "Does that mean you'll be coming cooking over at our place often?"

"I like it too," Gus spoke up, not wanting to be left out of the praising, "It's very...very...homely." He received blank stares. "What?" They broke into laughter and hugs were immediately exchanged.

"You look great, Mikey," Spinelli said, accepting the man's embrace.

"I missed you," he said, "All of you." He went on, pulling from the hug and beaming at everyone. They were silent, reverent of the reunion, until finally Vince clapped his hands together.

"So, what's our first task?" he questioned.

"Well, there's a grill outside, and hotdogs in the fridge, if you don't mind starting with that?" TJ suggested.

"Can do," Vince said, crossing into the kitchen. Within moments they had settled in the backyard on the old plastic chairs scattered along the porch while TJ and Vince stood frowning over the barbeque. They were holding cans of soda, Spinelli and Mikey having selected bottles of beer being the only real drinkers in the group, and were gathered in a small circle chatting and laughing.

"Anyways, when we weren't on the set, we were out at this one club in particular," Mikey was saying, regaling them with tales of his movie-making experience, "There was dancing, and drinking, and the music...you won't believe the music. I thought I'd heard jazz and the blues, but I really hadn't..."

"I don't know if I could approve of the drinking, Mikey, you're barely twenty-one," Gretchen interrupted.

"Oh, get off that damn high horse, Gretch," Spinelli chuckled, "You used to get just as wasted when you were in high school as the rest of us."

"Really? And do you happen to recall under whose encouragement this wasting was done?" Gretchen snorted lightly, then turning her attention back to Mikey, "But I'm serious. I'm interning at the hospital, and you have no idea how many kids we get in that have been out partying, _drinking_, getting _wasted_, and they..."

"This isn't lecture time, Gretchen," Vince scolded, coming over to sit with them, "TJ's burning the hotdogs just fine on his own," he explained when they gave him those questioning glances.

"I'm not burning the hotdogs," TJ snapped from the grill.

"Oh, Mikey, we forgot, you're a vegetarian now," Spinelli sputtered, "We really don't have anything decent to..."

"Forget about it, Spin, I've given up on that," Mikey shrugged, "I mean, when you're wrapping up a fourteen hour shoot, with thirty-six takes, haven't eaten since you woke up at five that morning, and are staring down the juiciest Cajun style chicken breast you ever did see, you kind of throw away preconceived morals and just chow down."

"That sounds rather...um...pleasant," Gretchen shifted slightly, "Very poetically spoken."

"Sorry," Mikey settled back into the chair, crossing his legs and taking a good drawl from his beer bottle, "But about this club. Me and this other guy, Sammy, who was really just my personal assistant on the set but I didn't have the heart to boss him around, well, we went to this club pretty much every night. It was finally this one really rowdy night that this woman asked us if we were a part of the movie that was being shot. Sammy laughed and told her he was the star of the whole movie, of course she believed him, which I felt bad about. She asked him for his autograph, which he gave her, and then she asked me for mine. Then the local band got word of us...and they actually invited us on stage...can you believe that?"

"What happened? Did you sing?" Spinelli questioned, as TJ joined them, squatting behind her and wrapping his arms around her neck.

"No, I was too scared...but you should have seen Sammy. He got up on stage and tore the place up, dancing like a wild animal. Now he'd had a few drinks before, so I can't vouch for his frame of mind at that point in time, but all I can say is that when the director walked in and saw it, he said maybe Sammy should have been the star of the film. We all laughed pretty hard at that."

"Food's ready," TJ announced, brushing his lips against Spinelli's neck before heading into the kitchen for paper plates.

-0-0-

The gang sat together late in the night staring up at the stars. TJ was talking with Vince about how he wanted to set things up the next morning. Gretchen and Spinelli lay next to one another on the patio swing, a blanket laid over them, staring up at the stars. Mikey was next to them in a plastic chair and Gus was trying to listen to Vince and TJ but really didn't seem interested.

"What if the movie doesn't do so well?" Mikey asked from where he sat, staring at his empty beer bottle.

"Not gonna effect you," Spinelli answered, "You'll still find work, because you're a great actor. If not in movies, then television or theatre."

"Actually," Mikey perked up slightly, "I was thinking of auditioning for a Broadway production that's opening..."

"Great, then go for it," Spinelli said, shifting slightly to get comfortable.

"Well...I was thinking that you might...maybe...audition with me."

"What?" Spinelli sat up, "Are you kidding? I don't think so, Mikey."

"Please, Spinelli...I won't do it alone, I refuse. You're the only person I'll dance with," Mikey begged.

"No way, Mikey," Spinelli spat, "I'm sorry, but this gal ain't singing and dancing for no one on the big stage."

"TJ, help me out here," Mikey called and TJ glanced to them with curiosity, making his way over and squeezing his way in next to Spinelli.

"Sorry Gretch," he mumbled as she shifted disgruntled.

"Tell Spinelli to do this with me," Mikey pleaded.

"Spin, do it with him," TJ said, his arm slipping around his wife.

"You don't even know what he wants me to do," Spinelli growled, then turning to Mikey, "I can't sing."

"Oh, you have a beautiful singing voice," Mikey argued.

"Oo...Mikey, don't encourage her to sing," TJ interrupted, making a mock sour face and shaking his head. Spinelli elbowed him in the stomach. "Ow! What? I'm agreeing with you!"

"You're not supposed to agree with me on the bad stuff," Spinelli spat, "I'll think about it, alright Mikey?"

"Thank you!"

"But that's no guarantee I'll do it," Spinelli snorted, snuggling against TJ and poking him hard in the ribs, "And _you_, you're supposed to come to my rescue, not Mikey's."

"So we got everything set up for tomorrow?" Vince asked, coming to stand over them and frowning at Gretchen, half-asleep.

"Yeah, we'll have to probably stop at the hardware store, maybe once tomorrow, but everything else is ready. We can get started working as early as you get here," TJ told them.

"Great, I'll be here somewhere around dinnertime," Gus joked.

"Oh, is that what you think?" Spinelli snarled, waving her fist in the air.

"Um..." Gus gulped, "Crack of dawn is good for me."

"Try not to make it too early," Spinelli said, patting TJ's stomach, "My husband here may be in for a rough night." The others chuckled, before beginning their good-byes, and heading for the door. Vince lifted Gretchen in his arms, carrying her to the car as she slept soundly.

"Go easy on him, Spin," Vince joked, "TJ's going to be doing a great deal of hard labor tomorrow."

-0-0-

Mikey smiled at the small room, dusty and unfurnished. He laid his bag on the ground, turned when the door opened and Spinelli walked in holding blankets. He looked to his feet, frowning slightly.

"You guys don't have to put me up for the night," Mikey said for perhaps the hundredth time that night, "I can always go to a hotel, or something."

"You want to go to a hotel?" Spinelli demanded, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well, I know I'm in your way...I know that you and TJ would like to have privacy and..."

"Oh, we can do that anyways, so long as the door is closed," Spinelli shrugged, handing the blankets over, "There is the whole bed thing, though, I'm sure you want a bed."

"No, this is fine," Mikey reassured her, "Reminds me of old times...sleepovers, that kind of thing."

"Yeah," Spinelli smiled, looking to the ground, "How are you doing?"

"I guess I'm alright," Mikey mumbled, laying the blankets across the floor.

"Why don't you go home? I'm sure your dad would be more than happy to have you stay over," Spinelli questioned.

"I know...it's just that...ever since my mother passed...I just..." Mikey trailed off, focusing his attention entirely on spreading out the blankets in a comfortable fashion.

"Oh, I understand," Spinelli murmured, gently touching his shoulder, "It's been nearly two years, Mikey...are you...are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Mikey assured her once more, going to his bag. He heard Spinelli close the door, assumed she'd left.

"I wanted to talk to you, Mikey," she hadn't, left that is, and Mikey nearly jumped when he heard her soft whisper.

"What about?"

"You know what about."

"I've stopped, Spinelli, you were there, remember?" Mikey sighed, turning to face her, "You can check my bags, you can check me. I'll go down for a blood test now, if you want. I'm clean." She looked to be considering doing just as he'd suggested, but then looked to her feet. He stood up, placing his hands on her shoulders, "You were there for me, Spinelli, and I know that you're here for me now. I won't start again, so long as I have you."

"I'm just scared for you is all," Spinelli mumbled, occupying herself with the wrinkles in her shirt.

"You amaze me, you know," Mikey whispered softly, brushing the hair from Spinelli's eyes, "How you can put on such a tough act, and still be so caring."

"Don't let that get out," she threatened jokingly, "I got a rep to protect."

"Gotcha," Mikey smiled, then frowning slightly, "I know I don't have to ask but the others..."

"They don't know, not even TJ. I didn't tell them. Do you need any help setting up for bed? Or do you need anything? Like a drink...bedtime story maybe?" Spinelli grinned.

"No, I'm fine," Mikey chuckled. They were silent and Mikey looked to the floor sheepishly, "I love you, Spinelli."

"I love you, too, Mikey," she replied almost automatically, and Mikey sighed, giving the impression it wasn't the answer he wanted, and gently kissed her forehead.

"Right."

"Um...I got to go," Spinelli murmured, stepping back towards the door, "TJ's waiting."

"Right, TJ, you're husband...my best friend...TJ," Mikey stuttered, downcast, blushing, almost shame-faced.

"That's right, Mikey, my husband," Spinelli said slowly, unsure, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yup, I'm just tired is all," he grinned at her, "Which is why I should go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah, alright. Night," Spinelli called over her shoulder, shutting the door quietly behind her. Mikey sighed, slumping to the floor and mess of blankets, staring unblinkingly at his bag.

"Her husband...right..." he mumbled beneath his breath, "Husband..."

-0-0-

Spinelli slipped into the dark of the room she shared with TJ, crossing through the mess of sealed boxes, and discarded trinkets to the bed where he lay. She crawled onto that bed, maneuvering under the covers, and brushing her lips against his. He stirred slightly, eyes opening.

"What's wrong?" TJ mumbled, wrapping his arms around her.

"Mikey was acting strange," Spinelli explained.

"Mikey always acts strange," TJ retorted, trailing kisses along her cheek and neck.

"Mmm...I guess so..." she murmured, eyes closed, happily accepting his touch and attention, which she gladly returned, "We gonna do this?" she whispered, trailing a finger along his collar bone.

"I didn't know we were in any kind of rush?" TJ mumbled mock defensively.

"No interruptions?"

"Not if I can help it," TJ assured her, gently laying her against the pillow and taking her lips in a deep kiss. To say it had been a long time since they'd been intimate wouldn't be altogether the truth. It had been a few days, maybe, but to them it was an eternity.

-0-0-

It was late in the afternoon, the sun was high, and it was a tad hot outdoors. The boys were outside, shirts discarded, and the sounds of construction work drifted into the house where Spinelli and Gretchen were busy painting the kitchen and hallways.

"So, how is your marriage going anyways?" Gretchen asked from where she stood. They'd been silent most of the morning, as both girls were a bit groggy from the late night.

"Fine," Spinelli muttered, smoothing the brick red paint along the wall. TJ hadn't had much to say in the decorating of the house, leaving it entirely up to Spinelli, and she had plenty of ideas.

"That sounds a little dissuasive," Gretchen noted, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Spinelli shrugged, slumping to the newspaper covered floor with a heavy sigh, "It's like...we've hardly had any intimate time together, and we finally had that chance last night, and then TJ decides he can't go through with it because Mikey's in the other room."

"He's simply being courteous," Gretchen shrugged, trying to excuse TJ's behavior, "I don't doubt he's realized how awkward it can be for the rest of us, when you two are...well, don't get me wrong, I love how you two are together. And we're all happy that you're married and settling down in a house, and everything. I just...I've noticed that Mikey and Gus, and even sometimes Vince have a little difficulty dealing with you two being intimate."

"Well, this is a hell of a time to tell me that," Spinelli grumbled, "It's not like we ask them to watch, or tell them in wonderfully graphic detail all about it."

"We shouldn't be talking about this," Gretchen stated meekly, "I can't speak for the others, and I refuse to. Can we just move on to something else? Other than the lack of sexual relations, how is your marriage doing?"

"He's driving me insane," Spinelli finally said.

"Oh, how so?"

"He's outside right now with no shirt on, working with his hands, getting all hot and sweaty, and we didn't have sex last night." Gretchen sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

"Let's just paint, alright?" she suggested.

"I'm just saying it's not fair to me! Guys aren't supposed to hold out, that's the woman's job. And even then, it's a difficult task. Guys are supposed to want sex twenty-four seven. They're supposed to be ready to pull..."

"Whoa! Spinelli, that's enough, I get the picture," Gretchen cried, on her feet, "I don't know what to tell you as I've never been in that situation."

"You think I'm an attractive woman, right?" Spinelli demanded, looking up at her good friend, eyes wide, pouting slightly. She looked rather frumpy, with a dabble of red paint smeared across her cheek and hands and arms. She was wearing sweat pants, and an old shirt that smelled vaguely of mothballs.

"You're a very attractive woman, Spinelli," Gretchen unconvincingly conceded between pursed lips. Spinelli frowned, pulling herself to her feet and beginning down the hallway to the front door. "Where are you going?" Gretchen called after her.

"To find my husband, drag him in a closet, and force him to tear my clothes off," Spinelli answered casually, stopping and turning with an impish grin across her face, "Why? Did you want to watch?"

"Ha, ha," Gretchen shook her head, "Get you ass back here!"

"Oh, Gretch, I didn't know you had it in you," Spinelli teased, walking back over, "Does this make me your bitch, now?"

"Boy, I miss our conversations," Gretchen laughed, "Now get back to painting."

"Fine, fine," Spinelli took up her paintbrush again, sighing slightly.

"So," Gretchen started again, slyly, "Do I, perhaps, sense children in the near future?"

"_What_?" Spinelli snapped, eyes wide, shock riddled across her face. "Children..." she stammered, pale, "We can't have children...we're still in school...and...well, I'm a waitress and TJ's a mailroom boy, we ain't exactly pulling in heavy dough."

"So, no children," Gretchen muttered, dismayed.

"No, definitely not. Not for a long, long, _long_ time. We haven't even talked about the possibility of little sprats, alright, so no, no, no."

"Oh," Gretchen rolled the paint on the wall in a quiet motion, "How are classes going? I heard you're taking a photography class."

"Oh, yeah," Spinelli plucked at the wall with her brush, "They're going well, I suppose. I like photography. The instructor just gives us an assignment and I can take pictures of whatever I want. I really understand it, too. TJ's proud of me."

"I never thought you'd actually be taking college classes, Spin. But then, I never thought you'd be graduating high school either, so..."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Gretch," Spinelli snarled.

"But then again, you do like to shock people," Gretchen added, then straightened, admiring her work, "Want to take a break?"

"Sure, let's see what the guys are up to," Spinelli nodded, lifting herself up. They linked arms, making their way down the hall.

-0-0-

TJ leaned over the small mess they'd made, frowning. Cabinets, he assessed from the situation, were not easy to put together. He'd be retiling tomorrow, if he could drag Spinelli to the hardware store, or back as it would be, to look at the various tile designs they sported. Vince came to lean next to TJ, frowning as well and wiping the sweat from his brow. Mikey and Gus paused from what they'd been doing, moving a bathroom sink from the truck, heaving with gasps for breath.

"It's lopsided," TJ finally admitted, frowning at his handiwork, "Maybe Spinelli should have put it together."

"I think we did a fine job," Vince argued, "Is your little woman going to be doing everything for you?"

"I wouldn't call her my little woman to her face, Vince," TJ warned and they both chuckled. TJ was the first to fall silent, frowning once more at the cabinet. "I really do suck at this kind of work, don't I? She's gonna be disappointed."

"It doesn't look that bad, Teej, don't beat yourself up over a cabinet," Vince said, patting TJ's shoulder.

"It's not just the cabinet, is it TJ?" Mikey asked knowingly.

"The past few weeks have been stressful is all," TJ explicated, "I think she's disappointed in the house...and maybe me...it just feels like she's ending up doing all the work. I'm just...I'm useless when it comes to this construction stuff, and she knows it. I should have paid attention when my dad was showing me how to fix the sink..."

"Didn't you're dad break the sink and end up calling a plumber anyways?" Vince reminded him and TJ grinned.

"I guess my entire family is completely incompetent when it comes to this kind of thing," TJ laughed, "It doesn't change the fact that I still feel bad. I'm supposed to be the man in the relationship, and I have to call her in the room to kill a spider."

"That's only because you are a sensitive soul," Mikey told him calmly, "And you could not stand to hurt such a helpless creature as a spider."

"That...and its kind of disgusting when it gets squashed, and those things have so many legs, they're kind of creepy," TJ said.

The boys looked up when the front door opened, Gretchen and Spinelli walking out with a tray full of drinks.

"Lemonade, anyone?" Gretchen said, handing out the drinks. Spinelli took one over to TJ then looked to the fully assembled cabinet.

"It's lopsided," she remarked and TJ gave her a hurt glare, "Oh...it'll be fine," she soothed, handing the glass over. TJ peeked inside the cup warily. "Gretchen made it," Spinelli reassured him, and with that he took a tentative sip, slipping his arm around Spinelli's waist.

"Taking a break, are we boys?" Gretchen noted, looking around at the men just sitting around.

"Well, we've been working real hard and we thought we'd take a little breather. What about you girls? Making lemonade...I'm beginning to think that you really aren't doing much in there aside from painting each other's toenails, doing one another's hair, and having pillow fights," Vince said with a grin.

"Yeah, this lifting stuff is killer," Gus put in, rubbing his biceps gingerly.

"You measured, right?" Spinelli inquired, her gaze still set on the cabinet.

"Yeah, what do you take us for?" TJ retorted.

"You measure twice?" she pressed. Vince snapped his fingers sarcastically.

"I knew we forgot something...everyone knows that you measure twice," he mocked.

"Measure twice, cut once," Spinelli hissed, "Every good carpenter knows that."

"It's a good thing we're not carpenters then, right, men?" TJ shouted, a broad smile across his face.

"Right," the boys cried in unison.

"I'm just saying..." Spinelli muttered.

"Well, let the men take care of that," TJ teased, "Why don't you lady folk go inside and make us some lunch. We men like our sandwiches."

"You men like sleeping on the couches, too, huh?" Spinelli shot back with a slight laugh.

"Oh, no threatening," TJ said, "Tell you what, why don't you fix the cabinet, and we'll go make you two some lunch? And, honey, could you maybe look at the air conditioning system, because it got pretty hot last night."

"We can see who wears the pants in that relationship," Vince commented, snickers from Mikey and Gus.

"We both wear pants," TJ protested, then looking slyly to Spinelli, "Though one of us does look great in a skirt."

"Oh, Teej, I hate to break it to you, but you really don't have the legs for it," she said tartly.

"Now why would you go and say something like that, babe, you know I'm self-conscious?" They broke into laughter as Spinelli and Gretchen moved back towards the house.

"Come on, Gretch, back to our pillow fight," Spinelli called over her shoulder, "Do you want to wear the lacy pink lingerie this time, and I'll wear the black negligee?"

"Oh, definitely, black is your color after all, Spinelli," Gretchen replied as they shut the door behind them leaving the men to their thoughts.

"They're just joking...right?" Gus spoke up, "Because I've been away on base for a long time..."

-0-0-

The gang settled within Spinelli and TJ's living room, gathered around the television. They'd taken occupancy on the couch and stared nervously at the set. They'd done a good job on the house, and it was finally starting to feel like home. They'd worked hard for perhaps two, three weeks. Spinelli had finished unpacking the last box the night before.

"What time did Mikey say it would be on?" Vince asked, flipping through the T.V. Guide. It would be his first television appearance, to talk about his new movie. The talk show was local, and would be live. Spinelli handed out a few snacks before falling into TJ's lap, taking the remote control from him.

"It's just a few minutes, do you have the tape set up?" Spinelli snapped, wrapping her arms about her husband and changing the channel to the correct station.

"Yeah. Poor Mikey, he was so nervous when he left this morning," TJ sighed, "They're going to be taking live phone calls, too. He's not very good at talking to...well...people he doesn't know."

"More like, rabid fans he doesn't know," Gus commented.

"We're being supportive, remember," Gretchen spoke up, gently slapping Gus's arm.

"Well, it's not like he's here," Gus mumbled unhappily.

"Doesn't matter, because I'm here, so watch it with the wise cracks, got it bud?" Spinelli sneered and Gus gulped.

"Will you guys keep it down? The show's starting," Vince snapped, settling between Gretchen and TJ. The camera fixated on a smiling young blonde woman with her hair teased and curled, make-up covering her otherwise beautiful face. She sat on a comfy chair, Mikey beside her looking very awkward and overdone, wearing obvious powder make-up and lipstick. The audience was cheering.

"Ashley A. looks really bad in that lighting," TJ commented, kissing his wife gently.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a truly tres bien treat for you this evening," the talk show host, Ashley, announced, smiling pleasantly at the camera. "Michael Blumberg, the next big thing in Hollywood, is here to give us the first exclusive interview about his new movie, coming out next month." Mikey waved sheepishly to the audience that cheered wildly. "So, why don't you start by telling us a little about yourself? This will be your first movie, correct?"

"Yes, it will," Mikey replied, leaning his chin down, evidently uncertain that his voice would carry to the microphone neatly pinned to his shirt.

"But that's not to say you're new to the acting business. You've been in several theatre productions, haven't you, including the role of Brick Pollitt in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof? Which, if I recall correctly, pulled in rave reviews from all corners of the state, especially for your performance."

"That's correct...though I did feel that my co-star, playing Maggie, was a lot better than I was...more professional as well."

"But enough dredging up the past," Ashley chuckled, gently touching Mikey's knee. She, of course, had been the woman co-staring as Maggie; but she wasn't about ready to mention that. "We are here to talk about your new movie, In The Grandeur of Things. Will you be pulling out that magnificent Southern accent again for this production, as you had in your theatre days?"

"Well, no, actually. I play a...well, a yank, as my character is referred as in the movie, who's down in New Orleans investigating a series of mysterious deaths."

"That sounds frightening," Ashley laughed.

"Well, it's not really a thriller, more so of a contemplative piece, philosophical. It's not really meant to be frightening, though some parts of the movie will put you on the edge of your seat," Mikey chuckled nervously, "My character, Daniel Toole, is a man who's given up on faith and friends. He comes to the Southern town at the request of his grandmother, who's dying, as he's something of a small time detective."

"Well, I guess that takes care of my next question," Ashley chuckled, "Tell us what it was like, working with generally newcomers to the movies, as well as seasoned veterans of the field."

"We became something of a family down there," Mikey started, "At first I was a little shocked at how fast everything had to go, and then how long things seemed to take. But everyone, new or old to movie making, was very professional, which I think helped a lot. We laughed a lot, and the main point was to just have fun, which we did. It was nice having people who knew what they were doing on the set, and they were real nice at telling us, the new kids, what we were doing wrong and politely explaining to us the right way, it was a learning experience and they were good teachers. And as to us new kids, the veterans joked a great deal about the fresh air we brought with us everyday to the set."

"What can we expect from this movie?"

"Well, suspense, of course, as it is a really well written mystery. But I think, you'll find yourself laughing and crying just as much during the film," Mikey looked to his sneakers with careful interest, "It was a real character piece."

"Do you have any new work lined up now that this movie is wrapped?"

"Well, there's a few projects that my agent has ready for me. I'm also thinking of maybe auditioning for a little Broadway production, something that's been my dream for a long time."

"Broadway? Does this mean you'll be taking a break from the hot spotlight of Hollywood for a bit?"

"By no means. I have a movie I plan to start working on in a little less than a week," Mikey said, beginning to loosen up in the comfortable chair he was sitting upon, "I want to keep busy, and nothing is set for Broadway. The auditions are a ways away."

"I think it's about time we went to the phones," Ashley announced, and Mikey immediately straightened, tensing. "Our first phone call is from a girl named Trini. Hello, Trini."

"Hello, Ashley, you're, like, so beautiful and everything. I watch your show every night," an exuberant voice filled the screen.

"Did you have a question for Mr. Blumberg?"

"Yes, I did," Trini cried excitedly, "I read in a magazine article that you like to write poetry. How often do you write it, and can you read us a piece?" Mikey froze, his mouth opening, closing, he looked to his feet, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head.

"He's choking," Spinelli muttered.

"Shut up, Spin, he's fine," TJ mumbled.

"Uh...I..." Mikey stuttered, receiving a deadly glare from Ashley, "Well, I don't...not often...I...no."

"Thank you for that question, Trini," Ashley said tersely, turning to the camera with her plastered smile, "Our next caller is a Mandy, hello Mandy."

"Hi, I just wanted to ask Michael if he would maybe...take his shirt off!" Mikey turned an interesting shade of red.

"I can't watch this," Spinelli groaned, pulling herself up, "Any one want a refill?"

"If you don't mind," Gretchen held out her cup, eyes plastered on the screen. Spinelli took the dish and left towards the kitchen.

"Our next caller is a Laina, hello Laina." Ashley said, her voice taking a quiver of annoyance.

"Hello, Ashley, Michael. I just wanted to ask if there was anywhere else we could find Michael, any other television shows, or movies he might have been in?"

"Um..." Mikey fidgeted with the microphone on his shirt, causing a great deal of static and Ashley to swat at his hands.

"This is actually Michael's debut movie, so no. There was a recording of one of your theatre productions wasn't there...?" Ashley turned a meaningful eye on Mikey.

"Oh...um...for teaching...purposes,"Mikey mumbled.

"So that would be a no," Ashley all but snarled, "Our next caller is Stella. Hello, Stella."

"How's it goin'? I had a couple questions, actually, if ya' don't mind?"

"Shoot," Ashley encouraged.

"So, Mikee...al...ah...Michael, I heard you're single. I like, am so in love with you, and junk, I was wondering what kind of gal you'd be interested in?" Mikey looked thoughtful a moment, his brow furrowed.

"What did you say your name was, again?" Mikey looked up to the camera.

"Stella."

"Oh...I don't know...I've never thought about it..."

"Right, so Mikey, how awesome is this movie going to be?"

"I hope it does well...I have a lot of...what did you just call me?"

"Michael."

"Oh...um...yeah, was there anything else?" TJ raised an eyebrow, looking to the kitchen.

"I'll be right back, guys," he said, pulling himself from the couch and heading the direction Spinelli had taken.

"Just two more questions," Stella's voice drifted from the television set, "Will you marry me, and junk?"

"What?" Mikey stammered, nearly choking on the word. Laughter erupted from the living room.

TJ leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, casually crossing his arms over his chest and smiling down on Spinelli, squatting on the kitchen floor with the phone pressed firmly to her ear.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She looked up.

"Uh oh..." she whispered, waving slightly to him.

"What do you mean, uh oh?" Mikey said, "What uh oh? Are you all right? Ma'am."

"My husband just walked in," Stella said, more laughter.

"Then maybe we should end this and move on," Ashley persisted.

"I only have one more question."

"What?" Ashley demanded, impatiently.

"Ashley A., Halloween is over, when are you gonna take the mask off?" More laughter, and a contortion of faces on Mikey's part before he broke into a grin, shaking his head at the camera.

"Excuse me?" Ashley spat.

"We love you, Mikey," a click and a dial tone. Ashley seemed to be positively fuming, but Mikey clapped his hands together, settling back into the plush chair.

"Who's next?"

TJ crossed the tile over to Spinelli, who looked up at him somewhat sheepishly, lifting herself up and placing the phone back on the counter. Their lips met in a tender kiss for a moment, before they broke apart.

"He was choking," Spinelli mumbled, "I had to do something." TJ grinned.

"Asking him to marry you on national television? Yup, that's something."

"I told you I'd cheat on you if you continued to hold out on me," Spinelli shrugged.

"But with one of my best friends," TJ shook his head, mock dismally, then brightening slightly, "We do have twenty minutes before the show ends. I don't think the gang'll miss us."

"They'll be right there in the living room, Teej," Spinelli made an odd face, "And _twenty minutes_?"

"Hey, it's better than nothing," TJ shrugged.

"I've had nothing for a very long time, I'll be the judge of what's better or not," Spinelli said, taking his hand and leading him down the hall to their room, "That still doesn't take care of the fact that they are going to be right there in the living room."

"We'll be _really_ quiet, and there's always the door." Spinelli smiled, putting on an air innocence.

"Oh, but in the middle of the day, Mr. Dettweiler? It's unseemly..."

"Do you want to or not? Because I can recede the offer..."

"On the couch tonight you can..."

"There's no need for threats..."

-0-0-0-0-------------------Present Time----------------------0-0-0-0-

The gang stared at their long absent leader for a silent moment. Dr. Moreno stood perfectly still, looking around to those, who didn't seem mesmerized more so than surprised by this newcomer's appearance, for an explanation. Who was this young man, and how did he have such a command over Mikey and the others?

"TJ...I thought you weren't coming," Vince started, gaping. Mikey's face was scrunched, tear-filled.

"Please don't look at me like that, TJ..." he begged, sobbing, "I don't want you to look at me like that..."

"Shut up, Mikey, let me think," TJ murmured, "It's not your time to talk, it's my time." He paced the room a moment, back and forth, one, twice, stopped, turned back to Mikey. No one said a word. "I never thought you, of all people, would be so selfish." Mikey was on his feet in a moment, flushed and flustered.

"Selfish?"

"Yes, selfish. You heard me damnit," TJ snapped and Mikey recoiled at the anger in his voice, "What gives you the right to do something so goddamned stupid? You know what drugs will do to you."

"Kill me," Mikey answered snidely.

"No. Not even close," TJ spat, "They'll rip you apart, emotionally, mentally. You'll stop caring about those around you that you used to care about; treat 'em all like shit. They'll make you say and do things to people you love that otherwise you'd never say or do. They'll hurt everyone around you. They'll tear you're body apart, and take away every purpose you had in life. You'll serve them, the drugs and alcohol, and them alone. Then, and only then, will they kill you."

"Teej..." Mikey moaned, "You don't...you're wrong."

"Am I? You're selfish."

"Sir, we don't want to accuse him, we want to..." Dr. Moreno attempted to step in.

"Look lady," TJ turned on her, "I don't give a rat's ass what you all want to do, because I know exactly what I want to do."

"And what is that, TJ?" Mikey demanded, on the verge of tears, "What is it that you want to do?"

"I want to punch you're fucking lights out," TJ snarled, "But then, I was never one for violence. Never thought it solved anything."

"Not like Spinelli," Mikey mumbled, "Because she was all about violence, it solved everything for her."

"You don't have the right or privilege to say her name right now," TJ seethed, his eyes narrowing on Mikey.

"But that's what this is all about, isn't it? That's what you're here for, isn't it? Making sure we don't talk about her, and say something while you're not around? Making sure I don't blame her for everything? Or maybe you're here for something else," Mikey smirked slightly, the alcohol he'd consumed earlier kicking in full force, "Maybe this is your intervention as well. Maybe it's all of our intervention," he took a serious posture, clasping his hands in front of him, feet together, "We are the masochists of Third Street, and we all have a problem. We're all addicted to the death of our late best friend, Ashley Funicello _Spinelli_. Not Dettweiler, because let's face it, you're marriage really was a joke."

"Shut up," Vince growled, stepping forward.

"At TJ's side as usual, eh, Vince?" Mikey shot, "Spinelli's gone, so are you taking her job as his defender. He never could fight for himself."

"Now, this is not helping, we need to sit and talk like adults..." Gretchen spoke up meekly, her words choking slightly.

"Like _adults_?" Mikey strained to keep his voice from a shout, "You're all hardly adults. Sure, you all look like adults, dress like adults, act like adults, talk like adults; but none of you are mature like adults. You're all about as mature as the days when you walked around in diapers."

"And you're so much better than us," TJ hissed, "The biggest baby of us all. Still haven't let go of your mother's apron strings. She's dead, Mikey, it's time to let go."

"It works both ways, TJ," Mikey retorted, "_She's _dead, TJ, let go! You all look at me like I've done something horrible? I've lost a good friend, someone I truly cared for, not for the first time in my life. The way I see it, I'm better than all of you, I didn't decide to simply glaze over it or confine myself to a house. Maybe I cared about her more..."

"Don't you fucking dare to presume..." TJ started.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gus demanded, "That we didn't care about her? We all cared about her. It's obvious how much we're all hurting. Just because we tried to get on with our lives, just because we didn't turn to drugs to solve our goddamned problems."

"You don't get it...she was the strong one. She was strong for me," Mikey cried.

"Don't you fucking dare..." TJ growled.

"You should be blaming yourself for her being gone anyways," Mikey hissed.

"What?" TJ fell back one step, losing ground, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Shut up, Mikey," Vince threatened.

"Haven't you thought about it? Why she was on that plane?" Mikey pressed, "Why was she up so early in the morning, we all know she wasn't a morning person?"

"Don't Mikey," Gretchen moved to his side, pleading, "Will you shut your mouth? Stop it." TJ felt his heart pounding in his chest, stepping back again.

"It's funny really," Mikey chuckled maliciously, "You see, they don't want you to know something...something about Spinelli. They think they're in the right, keeping things from her husband...you see, Spinelli did take an early flight, because she was pregnant, she was pregnant and she was rushing home. They don't think it's something her husband should know, but I don't think it's fair that you don't."

"Mikey, stop it, now," Gretchen screeched, slapping him across the cheek. There was a stunned silence. They turned to TJ, back against the wall, his eyes downcast, silent.

"Is it true?" he whispered. No answer. "Is it true?" he demanded, shouting now.

"She...she was sick the whole time in San Diego," Gretchen sobbed, "So she went to the hospital...the doctor there...he...told her. She wanted to surprise you...she told us not to say anything..."

"Three years...you didn't think that in three years maybe I should have known?" TJ demanded, his voice quavering. Mikey was silent, almost triumphant.

"We didn't want you to know, TJ," Vince explained, "You lost Spinelli, it was bad enough."

"How long?" TJ whispered.

"What?"

"How far along was she?"

"She said that it was less than a month," Gus mumbled, "A little early to be feeling so ill, but she said her mother was the same way. That they...it's a curse really, that's what she said..."

"We didn't want you to know because..." Gretchen trailed off, closing her eyes, "We're sorry."

"Pregnant," TJ repeated, his eyes turned on Mikey, "I suppose you're happy now. This _is_ my fault, everything's my fault..."

"I didn't mean it like that," Mikey stuttered, "I...I didn't mean it to sound like that."

"But you did..." TJ mumbled, "Mean it like that."

"I'm sorry," Mikey stepped forward.

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," TJ sneered, staring up at Mikey, pulling from his pocket his wallet and opening it, "It's her." Mikey stopped, staring at the picture, his heart pounding in his chest. "Stop using her as an excuse, Mikey." He closed the wallet, turning as he pushed it back into his pocket.

"I'm not the only one," Mikey called after him, "I have a problem, TJ, I'm not hiding that. But so do you, so do all of you. I want help...I do...don't get me wrong, but I don't think anyone here can help me. I don't think anyone can help you either. I miss her, TJ, but I miss you too. You came here to talk, maybe we should talk."

"Mikey..." TJ sighed, staring blankly at the door, "Thank you for telling me. I know that if you weren't in the position you were...you would have done it better...but it's good that I know. I do have a problem, Mikey, the woman I love is dead and now so is my unborn child."

"We can help each other, TJ," Mikey whispered, "We could try..."

"Do you really want to try?"

"I do. I want to be better; I want to stop using her as an excuse. I want to...I want to be someone she could be proud of..." Mikey trailed off, looking to the ground, "Someone they could both be proud of." TJ turned slightly, met his eyes.

"Then you can do it on your own, Mikey, you always could. Because you want to," TJ's hand slipped around the doorknob, "I have to deal with this now, Mikey, on my own. But I'll help you, if you need me to. They can help you too. We love you, Mikey." He slipped out the door, leaving them all behind gaping.

* * *

END A/N: Hm...very interesting...oh, points to PureEvilOne who somehow figured out why she was on the early flight.  I have no idea how she figured that out as I hinted nothing towards it...no foreshadowing whatsoever...and it upset me too...sniffles...my big surprise and she has to ruin it with this adament statement "They know she's pregnant." Bleh.  Well, I'm over it.  I wasn't so much angry that she figured it out as upset she posted it in the review and possibly ruined the story for anyone who isn't stalking me and reading my notes on the story.

You aren't stalking me, are you, PureEvilOne?  Because I'm a very paranoid person...

Oh man.  Um...REVIEW.

tHANKS fOR rEADING: and please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

_"Nolite te bastardes carborundorum."  - _The Handmaid's Tale


	10. Like Dirt For Soil

A/N: Hmm....here 'tis is. So long as they don't know I was considering putting this on haitus all will be good...

Thanks to the reviewers:

RavenForever: You should have that infection looked at...not being able to cry is like...um...okay, so it's more like going to war without France, big deal, infections are bad!

PureEvilOne: one: I don't care.I took a wild guess, and hey...two: IF IT WERE SUPPOSED TO BE OVBVIOUS I WOULD HAVE STATED IT. three: I thought that was monkman...four: thank you. ROCK ON!

DAGL: MEOW!

iluvdanbyrd: Yes...so sad...you think I'd go into more about Mikey being in love with her, but I don't know if I will...

TNPD: Yeah, those sexual tension moments were...yup...fun to write. I laughed my arse off reading over them, but, as modesty would have it, I'm sure they could have been funnier...somehow...

Soul-of-Camida: I used to update sooner...but then school, work, and the fact I'm working on two stories at once, got in the way. My favorite chapter, I maintain, is chapter four (TJ and Spin's first date, yay!). Though coming in for a close second was chapter 6...er...chapter 7 in world. Oh, you spelled spectacular correctly. Your long reviews rock, make more.

SteffieWitter96: I've got a lot of surprises in store, the chapter after this one for instance...oops, never mind, scratch that...hehe...bad SD!

Chellyburger(YAY, new reviewer!): Thank you, ever so much (hey arnold! moment...I watch too many cartoons), for your wonderful praise. I can't even begin to tell you how flattering it is that you feel that way about my fic, and I'm glad you decided to read _and_ review it, which makes me incredibly happy!

Sarah: Another name change? Mmm...not quite so drastic, I give my approval (AHAHAHAHA, don't ask...) It's alright, I posted the chapter probably ten days late...ahah...more like I posted the chapter of WSL ten days late...oi....

I used to write both this story and WSL at the same time. I would have both files opened, and switch from both of them depending on how I felt at the time...but, yeah, now I'm alternating by chapter, which makes for longer update periods. I felt I should explain that to all of you.

NOTE (WARNING, more like it...): The way I set up the story, TJ and Spin were in an inter-religious marriage, which some people frown on (most people, actually...I don't see why...) but, anyways, that's discussed in this chapter slightly. I don't know if anyone would find the discussion offensive, however, I feel it's better to be safe and warn you.

You can't hurt me with the things that you do...I'll pick up dandelions and give them to you...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 9: Like Dirt For Soil 

I stared up at that foreboding house with a wary eye; afraid to advance, but knowing I couldn't turn back. I'd played in that house as a child, raced across that lawn, split my head open on that mailbox, stood on that doorstep with tentative motions, ringing that doorbell and waiting nervously for my date. Etched in every fiber of my being was memory after memory of that house and only one stood out vividly, so incredibly clear, in my mind at that moment. The night I'd stood there, in that house, in that living room, and told my wife's parents that I would cut them out of her life.

And now I was back to give them this little piece of grief so that, perhaps, I didn't have to suffer alone. She'd been pregnant. My wife, my love, Spinelli had been pregnant. Inside of her had been a piece of the both of us, a true testament of our love. A little boy or girl who would have called me "daddy", would have fallen asleep in my arms, would have smiled up at me, would have kissed my cheek at night, would have relied on me to keep the monsters at bay, would have...

I closed his eyes, took a deep breath and fought the lump choking his throat. It didn't help, those "would have's". I could stand there for years listing all the "would have's" and still be left with nothing save for that empty ache where my heart should be. I wanted to leave, to lie down and give up. To go into the sky so I could rest on the clouds and sleep forever. I moved, fidgeted slightly and the porch light, with its motion sensor, flickered on. It caught me, in its dimly lit hold. I felt like an intruder, and that light was pointing at me viciously, accusingly. _You shouldn't be here. You don't belong here. Leave._

There was nothing else to do. I sighed, shoving my hands in my pockets. I didn't know what to do with them anymore. Those damn hands. They let her slip out of them too often. They didn't hold her tight enough, didn't keep her safe. What use were they?

The door was large, massive to say the least. A deep chocolate brown with a golden brass knocker nailed on under the peephole. The doorknob was circular, golden brass as well. I eyed the doorbell, a glossy plastic white button. I would press it, and it would glow red beneath, and I would be able to hear the ringing inside. A prolonged ding, followed by a less enthusiastic dong.

I already had a past history of hating the telephone. But I hated it more, earlier the other night, when I'd had to pick it up and dial a number I thought I'd forgotten long ago. A gruff voice had filled my ear, with a gruffer "hello?" I'd been startled at how unfamiliar the voice sounded, yet, familiar at the same time. I hadn't heard it in a long while.

"Bob," I had greeted, a bit tersely. My father-in-law had not gained a warm place in my heart over the past several years, "It's...it's me, um...Theodore Dettweiler," I hadn't been certain Bob would recognize who I was. But Bob did, he'd recognized my voice immediately. The following conversation had ensued.

"What do you want?"

"I need to speak to you and your wife."

"Really."

"About...about...things...Ashley..." Silence. "Sir?"

"Lest you've forgotten, we don't get along when it comes to my daughter."

"It's important, sir." Silence, again. "I need to..."

"What do you need to talk about? What is so important that you need to bother both my wife and myself over? Why can't you just tell me?"

"Can I come over for dinner? I'd invite you over here...but...I don't cook...so..." More silence, the truly uncomfortable kind.

"Tomorrow, at six. I'll speak to Flo. Vitto will be home." It was meant to be a threat, but I had taken it as good news. Vitto and myself had gotten along over the course of his marriage to Spinelli, the same with Joey. It had seemed odd, that they were so supportive of the marriage, where their parents weren't. It probably helped that they had been so much closer to her, and yet, so distant. They'd been buddies, more than siblings. And because of that, I had hung around them often as well. Their overprotective brother sense didn't kick in quite so heavily towards me.

So I stood there, in front of that foreboding house, on that dark stoop, with the motion-sensor activated porch light glowering down on me, wishing I were anywhere else, and glancing at my watch. 5:58, plenty of time to throw up, right?

With a sigh of finality, I rang the doorbell, and then promptly shoved my hand back into my pocket. As though they'd been waiting, the door swung open in mere seconds. Bob stood in front, frowning down on me. Even as we were both roughly the same height, Bob had a way of making himself appear taller than he really was. Flo was directly behind Bob, her hand placed lightly on her husband's shoulder, peering out at me with a scouring stare. Vitto stood a ways behind them, hands behind his head, towering over his parents and the only one meeting me directly in the eye.

"You're late," Bob informed me roughly.

"Um...okay. Sorry," I shuffled forward, the Spinellis backing up and letting me in. I didn't feel like arguing with Bob, even as I knew I was early. I didn't want to fight. This wasn't going to turn into a fight if I could help it. Vitto extended his hand and with a reluctant movement, I took it.

"How's it going?" Vitto asked, "How are ya' holding up?"

"Haven't killed myself, yet," I shrugged. It wasn't an uplifting comment, but it expressed how I was feeling at that moment.

"Won't be going to hell then," Bob snarled with a snort. I frowned at the carpet. They were catholic. To Catholics suicide meant one-way ticket to hell.

"He's Jewish," Flo spoke up, her first words that evening. Us three men stared at her blankly, expecting more of an explanation at the seemingly random comment, which she somewhat obliged to give, "Jews don't go to hell." I lowered his eyes, biting my tongue until I drew blood. This was not going to be a pleasant nor easy evening to get through.

"Dinner's ready. It might be a little cold. It would have been hot if you weren't late," Bob growled, making his way to the kitchen, his wife following closely behind. Vitto patted my shoulder, offering a wry smile.

"They're just upset...because you remind them of her," he told me, attempting to ease the atmosphere. It didn't really help. "Ma's been crying all day, too...ever since dad brought it up...that you were coming for dinner, to talk about...well, you know," he stopped trying to make things better and simply frowned at the dining room entryway, "It's good to see you."

-0-0-0-0----------------April 1999-------------------0-0-0-0-

The students of Washington High shuffled towards the school that early Monday morning groggily. A few nodded their heads in the direction of the small group huddled around the school parking lot, receiving equally acknowledging nods. TJ leaned against the light pole, trying to pay attention as Gus regaled the gang with another tale of warfare, Griswold family style. Gus had another bout with his father, something about a barely passing grade in Gym class. Mikey and Vince seemed enthralled with the story, but Gretchen was sitting on the curb reviewing the rest of the gangs' homework. Every now and then she would give a disappointed click of her tongue and make a slight correction, writing a little comment on a sheet of paper for the homework owner to read later about what they'd done wrong and how not to do it next time. Of course, that paper was always thrown away, thought not out of unappreciative annoyance rather than not really caring. TJ frowned, staring down the walkway of the school. Spinelli had yet to show up. She couldn't be sick; he knew that. He'd spoken to her on the phone the night before, offered her a ride to school. She'd turned him down, said she had a surprise for the gang and that included TJ.

There was a commotion at the entrance of the parking lot and the gang looked in that direction. It was an old clunker. A smooth older car, from the 1950's, 1960's obviously from the curved humps of headlights and rear lights. It appeared to have rusted over; the paint was almost completely peeled off leaving behind a reddish silver hue. It was a convertible and the top was rolled back, the Chevrolet symbol emblazoned on the hood of the car. A few people were commenting on the vehicle, and TJ grinned, recognizing the driver immediately and stepping forward into the parking lot. The rest of the gang followed. The car pulled into a parking space, and the engine was killed. TJ crossed his arms in front of his chest, shaking his head, standing behind the vehicle and watching the driver hop out and turn with a wide grin.

"What do you think?" Spinelli exclaimed. TJ frowned slightly, raising an eyebrow as the rest of the gang came up behind him.

"What is it?"

"It's a car, Teej," Spinelli teased, shaking her head, and closing the space between them, "Jeez, I knew you weren't on the up and up with this stuff...but come on..."

"You know what I mean," TJ hissed, rolling his eyes.

"A corvette...1958, she's not much to look at now, but it's got the original V-8 engine, original frame, all original inner workings, all the numbers match...she's a babe, huh? Tell me this car does not turn you on," her smile broadened.

"I have to tell you, Spin, the car doesn't turn me on," TJ replied.

"Turns me on," Vince spoke up, whistling, "Nice piece of metal you've got here."

"Nice rust bucket," Gus muttered.

"Hey, hey," Spinelli seethed, "She's a rust bucket, but she's my rust bucket. She purrs like a kitten, and my brothers gave her the complete Spinelli rundown...gave her thumbs up. We're gonna completely restore her, I'm so excited! Ever since Joey's been back we've been looking for a project to occupy our time with, and, I mean, our wrestling around the house is driving mom up the wall." TJ frowned.

"And how much of _our_ time is this project going to take up?" he asked quietly. Spinelli slipped her arms around his neck, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"We've got a few minutes before class starts, wanna go for a ride?"

"Oh, I do!" Vince cried.

"Sorry, Vince, she's a two-seater," Spinelli shrugged, taking TJ's hand and leading him to the car.

"That's not fair...that is favoritism, right there," Vince argued, "I thought we agreed, no boyfriend benefits."

"First of all, I never agreed to anything, and second, when _you_ start dragging me into janitor's closets for make-out sessions, then you'll get benefits too," Spinelli grinned, and TJ shook his head at Vince with a glower.

"Don't take her up on that offer," he stated threateningly, before slipping into the car. The interior was a deep crimson red, nice, clean. "Where are we going?" TJ asked, looking to his girlfriend, who looked ecstatic. She'd gotten her driver's license almost a year ago, but this would be her first car.

"Just a quick spin," she answered, pulling out of the parking lot as TJ quickly buckled his seat belt.

"Why didn't you tell me you bought a car on the phone last night?"

"Because I wanted to surprise you," she said softly. She hadn't lied. The car drove smooth, and the engine sounded, well, as far as TJ could tell, like an engine.

"How come I didn't see it, in front of your house or something?"

"Because my brothers brought it back with them last night," Spinelli leaned back, cruising along down the street, frowning slightly, "And before you ask, it cost me a good amount, but Vitto and Joey and my parents pitched in, an early birthday gift." TJ sank into the seat. He'd almost forgotten her birthday was soon.

"Are you sure, that it's completely safe...? That we should be driving around like this? I mean, and why do you need a car? I have a car, and I'm more than willing to drive you anywhere you want to go."

"I'm psyched about this, Teej, why you acting so...so...weird about it?" Spinelli glanced at him evenly, trying to read his emotions. He shrugged, tapping the dashboard.

"I don't know. Something about my girlfriend having a race car bothers me," TJ said, staring out at the road, "It's you, Spin, and I know I shouldn't have to say anything...but...tell me you don't plan on racing this thing."

"I don't plan on racing her," Spinelli muttered, "Sheesh, Teej, you sound like my mom."

"Well, I care about you," TJ mumbled, fidgeting with the belt buckle, "And I've seen the way you drive in regular old non-racing cars. Besides, I wish you would have told me..."

"I love this car, TJ," Spinelli said flatly, "It's something for me and my brothers to work on together...I never get to work on things with them...or do anything with them since they been old enough to leave the house. Please, don't ruin this for me." TJ sighed, taking her hand in his own.

"I'm sorry," he told her, "I like the car, it's nice. And I'm happy you'll be spending more time with your brothers."

"You can come around and watch, you know," Spinelli suggested, "You can be our hot rod babe." She grinned.

"Yeah, I'll wear my bikini," he laughed. They chuckled together, before Spinelli fell silent, pulling back into the parking lot.

"There was something else I needed to talk to you about," she mumbled, parking the car once more. TJ frowned, watching the students moving towards the school in a forward shuffle of dismay. The first bell had rung. "My parents want dinner."

"Okay, don't they eat dinner every night?" TJ looked to her with confusion.

"They want you to come to dinner," she continued, forcing a smile, "To...um...get to know you as my...well...boyfriend."

"But they've already met me," TJ stammered, "They've known me my whole life, practically."

"I know, Teej, but...I don't know, they want to have you over for dinner," Spinelli tapped the steering wheel nervously, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

"I don't know, Spin..."

"I can make up some excuse...I'll tell them the food needs to be kosher, something like that, or made by someone who's kosher...what is kosher, anyways?" Spinelli shrugged and TJ shook his head at her, slipping his arm over her shoulders.

"A dinner won't be so bad," TJ conceded, "I'll go. When?"

"You don't have to, Teej. I can make up some lame excuse."

"I don't mind. Why? You ashamed of me?" he looked to her, only half-joking. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, smiling.

"I'll find out what time from my parents," she finally said, kissing his cheek and climbing out of the car. They walked hand in hand up to the school.

-0-0-

TJ joined Vince at their usual lunchroom table, frowning and following Vince's gaze. He was glowering, really, at what seemed nothing at all. TJ shifted slightly, opening his milk and clearing his throat in an attempt to gain Vince's attention.

"If I get in a fight, you have my back, right?" Vince finally spoke up, not looking to TJ.

"I suppose, depends. You know, why you would start the fight...how big the guy is...that sort of thing. Though, I feel I should inform you, I'm not the best of fighters."

"I know," Vince mumbled distractedly, "But if you're in a fight, Spinelli will jump in."

"Using me to get to my girlfriend?" TJ clucked, mock scolding, then, in a more serious note, "Why? Who would you want to start a fight with?"

"Lawson," Vince replied, steadily.

"_Lawson_, Lawson?"

"You know who Lawson is, so don't play like that," Vince snarled. TJ frowned, following Vince's gaze once more and noting the well-built young man sitting around with several other "jock" buddies chatting, laughing, and generally making a great deal of ruckus.

"Okay," TJ said with a deep inhale, "What did he do? Outshoot you at basketball practice today? Make a jerk of himself in the halls, again? Run into you unintentionally and forget to apologize?"

"Asked Gretchen out on a date," Vince mumbled. TJ frowned, turning a glower on in the same direction as Vince. Lawson didn't ask girls out because they had great personalities, and he didn't like to chat on dates. For once, TJ had to agree with Vince; Gretchen shouldn't be dating this guy.

"So how are we going to approach this? You hold him down, I punch?" Vince shook his head, looking to the entrance of the cafeteria where Mikey and Spinelli were making their ways over. TJ glanced over his shoulder after a moment's hesitation, a smile replacing the glare.

"She turned him down, anyways," Vince whispered to TJ.

"But Lawson doesn't give up. To him 'no' just means she hasn't said 'yes', yet," TJ muttered, turning to meet Vince's eyes, "He isn't harassing her, is he?"

"Not that I know of," Vince shrugged, pushing the food around on his tray with his plastic fork.

"Then we leave him alone and keep an eye on Gretch," TJ said decisively. Vince nodded as Mikey and Spinelli took seats, extending greetings. Spinelli wrapped her arms around TJ, brushing her lips against his. Mikey frowned, looking around at the two young men.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "You all look so somber."

"I just missed my girl is all," TJ answered, slipping his arm over Spinelli's shoulders and brushing her hair from her face, grinning down at her.

"And we all know when TJ isn't happy, nobody is," Vince murmured, shooting one last glower in Lawson's direction before turning his attention completely to the gang, "Where's Gus and Gretch?"

"Gretchen is working on her science project during lunch," Spinelli answered, sticking her tongue out, disgusted by the idea of giving up food for schoolwork.

"And Gus is assuming the role of Don Juan of the halls," Mikey put in, exchanging food from his brown bagged lunch with things on Vince's platter.

"Flirting with the prospective ladies?" TJ snickered, "How's he fairing?"

"He's up the creek without a paddle, if you understand my meaning," Mikey chuckled, "He's had his eye on a particularly attractive brunette since the beginning of the month, but has yet to even procure her name."

"What about you?" Vince questioned, scowling, "I wanted that fruit bowl. I can't eat pudding, it's baseball season."

"I've given up on women," Mikey sulked. Vince glanced at him, and scooted about a foot away, "I mean, I'm giving up on _love_," Mikey hissed, and Vince shrugged, resuming eating, "I've decided to focus my entire time on the theatre."

"He got the lead role in the next drama club production," Spinelli beamed, and Mikey blushed slightly, smiling at his lunch, "I _told_ him if he just auditioned..."

"That's great, Mikey. What's the play?" TJ interrupted.

"Westside Story," Mikey mumbled, "You're helping me with my lines, right Spinelli?"

"Yeah, sure." They were startled when a chair scraped nearby and Gus took a seat at the table, frowning. His cheek was red.

"I don't understand girls," Gus muttered.

"Understatement of the year," Spinelli chuckled, receiving a hurt glance from Gus. She frowned, "What'd you do this time, kid?"

"_What did I do?_ I just tried to start a conversation with the girl, and she slapped me," Gus cried incredulously, "Aren't there school rules against slapping people?"

"Well, how did you go about starting this conversation?" Mikey pressed.

"I said 'hello'," Gus shrugged, "And maybe I made a comment about her dress..."

"What kind of comment?" Vince asked, raising an eyebrow. Gus fidgeted with his backpack on the ground, frowning at the table.

"You know how I am when I'm nervous. Things come out wrong...I try and say what I mean, but I jumble things up, and they can sort of mean something else...and sometimes I mix words up..."

"What did you say, Gus?" Spinelli groaned.

"I meant to say eyes..." he mumbled, focusing on the food in front of him, "But I may have said thighs..."

"Yeah, I think you can cross her off your list of potential girlfriends," TJ chuckled. Spinelli frowned, turning her head slightly, eying two girls walking by, sending particularly sour glances her way.

"Who does she think she is?" the first girl was saying, "Hanging all over him like that."

"Yeah. He's probably only dating her because she puts out..." the other girl said. Spinelli turned back to the table, picking at her sandwich before pushing it away; willing her muscles to loosen, feeling sick.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, real quick," she excused herself quietly, pushing away from the table on to her feet.

"You okay?" TJ asked, the boys turning to look at her with concern evident on their faces.

"Yeah, sure," she smirked, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be? I just have to use the restroom."

"Alright..." TJ frowned, watching as she made her way through the cafeteria.

"What's with her?" Vince asked, clearing his throat slightly. TJ glanced back to the table, shrugging.

"I don't know, she was fine this morning," he said, "You know, on cloud nine, loving her car, loving me..."

"It's Spinelli, guys," Gus spoke up, "She's probably just having one of her mood swings."

"That's great, Gus, and you wonder why you get slapped all the time," TJ commented. The others laughed as Gus simply looked to the table, shrugging and grinning sheepishly.

-0-0-

Spinelli frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She ran cold water in the faucet; let it fall over her hands, waking her up. She thought to splash some on her face, decided against it. She tried to convince herself she didn't care what they thought, tried to figure out how they saw a slut under all that unattractive, unappealing sexually grunge look she'd taken on, tried to remind herself that she was already facing possible expulsion and getting in another fight would lead to just that, as well as groundment until she was eighteen courtesy of her parents. She leaned against the wall, watched a few girls shuffle in. They smelled strongly of perfume, powder, and hairspray. Spinelli stuck her tongue out at the mirror. They gave her dirty looks, before chatting as though she weren't there.

"Why does it seem like cute guys travel in packs?" one of the girls, Maritza, Spinelli thought her name was, said.

"Makes them harder to approach," another girl, Valeria, commented. Spinelli rolled her eyes, slipping into one of the bathroom stalls. Hiding, kind of, though it didn't matter, either way she was invisible to them.

"You mean like all the football players?" Nina, that was the girl's name, that spoke up.

"Sort of," Maritza retorted, then after a moment's pause, "What do you guys think of TJ Dettweiler?" Spinelli felt her heart nearly skip a beat. She chewed her lower lip, leaning against the door of the stall, tracing her fingers over one of the names carved into the paint. It had a heart around it. They had fallen silent and for a moment Spinelli thought they'd left.

"Do you really think we should talk about him here?" one of the girl's said; Spinelli didn't recognize the voice.

"Who's TJ Dettweiler anyways?" Nina asked, and Spinelli could almost picture the short girl bouncing on the balls of her feet as she asked the question.

"Remember the guy who sent the principle's boxers up the flagpole?" Maritza was saying, and Nina must have nodded or done something to demonstrate that she did, indeed, remember, "That's TJ Dettweiler."

"Oh, he's cute," Nina giggled, "But isn't he dating someone named Lynne, or Nelly, something like that?"

"Spinelli," Valeria corrected, almost pointedly at the stall Spinelli was standing in, then in a whisper that she must have assumed the girl in the stall wouldn't be able to hear, "But everyone knows their relationship is a joke."

"On her, no doubt. I mean, what could he possibly see in her? Nothing, right? She's a bitch," Maritza spat, obviously forgetting that Spinelli, the 'her', was right there in the bathroom stall, probably thinking she couldn't hear the quiet whisper echoing off the tile walls, "They're old friends, probably started dating when they were younger, back when she hadn't the chance to grow into the...she's not that pretty."

"I don't know," Nina mumbled, "I think she's kind of pretty."

"But you're not a guy," Maritza argued, "No guy thinks she's pretty. She hangs around TJ like...like a lost puppy dog, that and his friends, Vince LaSalle, who everyone knows is the local athlete hottie. And what about Mikey, she trails around him like some groupie." Spinelli frowned. Did it really appear that way to everyone else, that she was pestering the more popular and attractive people in an attempt to be more popular and attractive herself?

"Isn't he gay...?" Valeria interjected.

"No," Maritza snapped, "He asked me out once...wrote me a poem."

"Biggest mistake of his life," Spinelli muttered under her breath. She was beginning to recall where she knew Maritza from, and that she hated the prissy, stuck-up, witch.

"What I'm trying to say is that she's pathetic," Maritza continued, and Spinelli, in a flare up of her dangerous temper, slammed the stall door open. The girls jumped, turning to watch her as she made her way out, pounding the faucet on and squirting some soap in her hands. They tried to resume some sort of dignified action of fixing their make-up or hair.

"No doubt you're wondering," Spinelli spoke up, and Maritza narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, pausing from reapplying her lipstick, "And I figure, it wouldn't be fair that you lie awake every night for the rest of your high school careers wondering, so I guess I'll tell you," the water stopped, and Spinelli grabbed a few paper towels, turning a threatening smile towards Maritza, "He's a great kisser." She threw the towels in the trashcan, heading towards the door, "And, he thinks I'm beautiful, whether you believe it or not," she swung the door open, strutting out, and making her way back to the boys. She picked her backpack up off the ground, and they looked to her with startled confusion.

"Where are you going?" Vince demanded, a little terser than he'd probably intended, he didn't like being surprised, and he probably didn't like the looks of the mood Spinelli was undoubtedly in.

"I forgot I'd told Gretchen I'd meet her in the library so she wouldn't have to work on that stupid project alone," Spinelli lied. TJ grabbed for his backpack, on his feet.

"I'll come with you," he said.

"No, that's alright," she forced a smile, seeing the group of girls making their way out of the bathroom and pausing to glower at her from the corners of their eyes, "Kick it with the guys, Teej, I'll see ya' later." He nodded, moving in for a kiss, she pulled back, motioning over his shoulder. He followed her gaze to the hall monitor, a pudgy little man that went by Roy, standing, glaring at them, "Big brother's watching." TJ frowned, waiting as the hall monitor lost interest, before turning a grin on Spinelli. "What?" He brushed his lips against hers, until she finally pushed him away, "You're gonna get me in trouble!" she whispered harshly.

"Oh what's the worst they could do? Put you in detention with me after school? I could use the company, and I could definitely use more time with you," TJ said with his usual cheekiness.

"I really don't think my parents will be too happy if you got me in trouble for hallway PDA's! I'm out of here," Spinelli muttered, shaking her head as she turned to leave. TJ touched her elbow, pulling her back to him in another quick kiss. He shrugged.

"Just in case I don't see you later," he explained.

"Why did I fall in love with such a troublemaker?" she sighed, shaking her head and making her way out of the cafeteria.

"Bye Spinelli!" Gus cried goofily.

"See ya, Spin," Vince called, giving a slight wave.

"Spinelli, you'll call me after school, right? You're going to..." Mikey shouted.

"Yes, Mikey," Spinelli called over her shoulder, leaving the cafeteria. TJ sank back to his seat with a heavy sigh.

"What's with you?" Vince asked.

"I miss my girlfriend," TJ groaned, then shielded himself as the others threw food particles his direction, laughing.

-0-0-

TJ was surprised to say the least when he found Gus standing, waiting at his locker between fifth and sixth period. They had classes on opposite ends of the school, which usually meant they didn't have any run-ins at this time of day. Immediately, TJ picked up that something was wrong. Gus stood there frowning, leaning against the locker, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed and focused on the tile. TJ stopped in front of him.

"What's up, Gus?"

"What took you so long? I've been waiting here for a long time," Gus said, lifting his eyes to meet TJ's, "It's Gretchen." TJ frowned, and wordlessly followed Gus in a march through the halls. They headed to the library, slipping in and nodding to the librarian before making their ways through the stacks of books and shelves to the back. Gretchen was sitting at one of the tables, sobbing silently, Spinelli attempting to comfort her. Vince stood back, glowering at the entrance with death in his eyes, leaning against a shelf, his arms crossed. Mikey was sitting across from Gretchen, patting her arm, but not saying much.

"What's going on?" TJ demanded, coming to Gretchen's side, "What happened?" Spinelli shrugged.

"I found her at lunch like this...her project was...she'd been working for weeks on it, and...she won't say who, but I think she knows," she explained, "I don't think that's all they did." TJ frowned, looking to Vince. They met eyes for a moment, a silent agreement passing between them. Gretchen wasn't the only one that knew who was behind this.

"Stay with her," TJ told Spinelli, heading for the exit, Vince behind him.

"What?" she stammered, moving to follow him. Gretchen grabbed her shirt, looking to her with pleading eyes, and she stopped. "Teej, what's going on?"

"Nothing," TJ snapped, he paused, taking a deep breath before turning to meet her eyes, "I don't want you anywhere near this. It'll be fine, we'll take care of things."

"Take care of what?" Spinelli pressed, "What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you later," TJ insisted, turning back towards the door. Mikey looked to Gus and they were on their feet following them as well.

"Where are you guys going?" Gus cried as the library door slammed shut behind them. The halls were empty save for a few stray students, and possibly a hall monitor somewhere. TJ and Vince paused, turning to them.

"Lawson did this, there's not a doubt in my mind," TJ explained, "Lawson or some of his jerk football buddies; either way, Lawson's behind it, and he's not gonna let up."

"So, what do you plan to do?" Gus asked, but Mikey was shaking his head, already having guessed.

"Teach the bastard a lesson," Vince growled.

"We're just gonna warn him," TJ said in an insistent hiss, "I don't want this to come to violence if we can help it," he turned a dangerous eye on Mikey and Gus, "And you guys don't tell Spinelli about this."

"Why? She'll want to know..." Gus argued.

"Because if she knows, she'll go down there and beat the crap out of him, and I don't want her getting expelled over Lawson's stupidity and her hotheadedness," TJ snapped, "Let's go, Vince."

"We're coming too," Mikey spoke up solemnly.

"Yeah," Gus joined in.

"No," Vince protested, "You guys stay with Gretchen."

"She's our friend, too," Gus argued, "I want to punch Lawson's lights out as much as you."

"Nobody is punching anyone's lights out," TJ cried, "You don't have to come."

"We've got your back, TJ," Gus assured him, "I'm coming."

"You don't have to go, Mikey," TJ said, "As much as I hate to admit it, chances are things will get violent. You can stay with Gretchen and Spinelli and still be doing just as much."

"I'm going, as well, TJ, if only to try and ensure, to some extent, that things don't turn violent," Mikey stated. TJ nodded, looking to his friends with silent nods of their own, they turned down the hall.

Lawson was a senior, which meant he didn't have sixth period. Most seniors left after their last classes of the day, but Lawson and his friends liked to stick around out under the football bleachers. They would drink, usually, and joke around, harassing younger students on their ways to class. Generally, they would just be the obnoxious jerks they'd always been.

Vince took the lead, knowing exactly where to find Lawson and his cronies. TJ was beside Vince, Gus and Mikey trailing behind. They spotted Lawson easily, laughing with his friends, chatting uproariously. Lawson and his friends stopped, when they noticed the gang quickly advancing on them.

"Well, well, if it isn't Loser LaSalle and his good buddy, Dirtweiler," Lawson chuckled, "What do you two want?"

"You to leave Gretchen alone," TJ spat. Lawson pursed his lips, looking to his buddies with a sly grin, then back to TJ, trying to put on an air of innocence.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" he questioned.

"You know what we mean, Lawson," Vince sneered, "Stay away from Gretchen, or...or..."

"What's the matter, Vince?" Lawson taunted, "Upset that I might steal your girl? Oops, I'm sorry; she's not your girl, is she? Though, could have fooled me, the way you're acting. Hate to break it to you, loser, but the overprotective boyfriend routine only works when you're the boyfriend."

"I would like to believe that you have a good heart, Lawson," Mikey spoke up, "And that deep down inside you understand that what you have done and the way you've chosen to act has hurt a very kind and sweet young woman, and that you feel guilty or..."

"Shut up, fag," Lawson spat.

"Pardon me?" Mikey stammered, taken aback by the choice of word.

"You're a real jerk, Lawson," TJ said, "But it's low, even for you, to do this to Gretch. Just leave her alone, Lawson, and we won't have any problems." Lawson scoffed, shaking his head to his friends. "Let's go, guys." TJ turned, patting Vince's shoulder, and motioning for the others to follow.

"Yeah, alright, I'll leave her alone," Lawson called after them, a bit too smugly for the gang's comfort, "Didn't really want to date her, anyways. Just, you know, adding names to my bedpost. I guess you win, this time, Dirtweiler. Hmm...let's see now, who's next on my list of girls...huh? Looks like it would be...Spinelli." TJ stopped dead in his tracks.

"He's just trying to get you to fight him, TJ," Mikey mumbled, "Don't let him get to you."

"I suppose she is somewhat better looking then Grundler," Lawson went on, his friends snickering behind him, "She does have a better body, bigger boobs..."

"Don't talk about my girlfriend, Lawson," TJ whispered under his breath, his hands clenching into tight fists.

"Nice body, but what about the face?" one of Lawson's friends chuckled.

"Good question," Lawson mused, as best his simple brain allowed, "I could always put a bag over her head...you really don't need to see the face when you're..."

"I said," TJ turned, glowering, "Don't talk about my girlfriend."

-0-0-

Spinelli sat on the tabletop, her feet planted on the plastic chair in front of her. She was examining one of the scuffmarks on her boots, frowning at it. Gretchen sat with her head resting on the desk, she wasn't crying anymore, but Spinelli wasn't certain what to say or do. She sighed, laying back on the table, and rolling her head to look at Gretchen.

"Think of it this way," she forced a smile, "This is an opportunity to do two whole projects at once. You always say doing the work is half the fun." Gretchen offered a crooked smirk.

"It's not the project, Spinelli," Gretchen mumbled, "I just...I knew what he was doing when he asked me on that date. Is it my fault that I'm not stupid enough to believe that a guy like him would want to go out with a girl like me? So I turned him down, rejected him humiliatingly in front of his friends. He was the stupid one, right? Stupid enough to have the confidence to ask me out in front of all his jock jerk friends in the first place. Did he really expect me to say yes? Then he has the nerve to act like I had no right to say 'no', like I was in the wrong," the tears were starting to fall again, and Spinelli sat up, her brow furrowed in concern, "It wasn't enough that they had to trash my project, but they had to...they pushed me around, teased me, called me names...I thought we were above such immaturities..."

"Who, Gretch? Who did this?" Spinelli demanded. Gretchen ran her fingers along her cheeks, tracing the tears errantly.

"Lawson..."

"Lawson?" Spinelli was on her feet in a moment, eyes boring into Gretchen, "He asked you on a date? Did you tell anyone? Does anyone know?"

"Vince." Spinelli shook her head, groaning.

"Vince knows, then TJ on," Spinelli moaned, making her way to the exit, Gretchen staring after her, unmoving and uncomprehending.

"What?"

"Let's go, Gretch," Spinelli commanded, turning slightly, and pausing, "You can't speak up for yourself and not expect a fight."

"But...I'm not strong like you, Spinelli...I don't know how to fight," Gretchen protested.

"Don't sell yourself short, Gretch, Lawson ain't hitting a girl anytime soon, and there's more than one way to fight someone," Spinelli snapped, "Now get your ass over here, we're going. Our boys have their hearts in the right place, their just gonna get themselves in a shit load of trouble."

"You don't think they went to Lawson to..."

"Lawson made you cry, Gretch," Spinelli sighed, "Those boys'll kill him if we don't get out there, and I'm sorry to say my Teej is leading the pack."

-0-0-

They stood facing one another, fists clenched, waiting for the other to move. Their friends watched, helpless; knowing that one sound could start the inevitable. TJ was scrawny for his age, average height, kind of skinny, and lacking anything that could possibly be mistaken for muscle. But he had learned to fight from Spinelli, which gave him a fearsome advantage. Lawson was tall, well toned. He spent hours in the gym, pumping weights, and probably popping steroid pills. But such accusations were unfounded. He had acne scars across his face, giving him more of a menacing scowl, topped with his malicious facsimile of a smile; he had an almost impish disposition. Now, TJ had fought Lawson before, and it really hadn't been pretty. From the looks of both boys it would have been hard to tell who the winner was if it weren't for the fact TJ's insignia Señor Fusion decoder ring was still in Lawson's possession. But that was a long time ago, and the boys had only recently had time to hit their growth spurts.

"TJ, let's go," Mikey pleaded, "He isn't worth it."

"Shut up, doughboy," Lawson snapped, "This is between me and him."

"Doughboy?" Mikey cried, flabbergasted, "Where does he come up with these insults? They're hurtful. Since when did his vocabulary expand?"

"Who let his vocabulary expand is a better question?" Gus muttered.

"Harassing Gretch was bad enough," TJ sneered, "But saying things about Spin...that's going too far..."

"You gonna talk me to death, Dirtweiler?" Lawson retorted.

It wasn't really about who started it, or who swung first, which is infinitely the better question. All that really matters is that the fight began with TJ and Lawson exchanging swings, ripping and kicking, in a messy heap on the ground; the others watched, some considering breaking it up, others giving cries of encouragement. Fights are never graceful when amateurs are involved, and this was certainly an amateurish event. There were grunts of pain, and fists slamming against exposed vulnerable spots. TJ felt a strike against his face, while he sunk his fist into what he hoped was Lawson's stomach. It was a blind fight, punctuated by rage, so neither boy was quite certain of the actions they were taking, or more importantly, the hits they were taking. They couldn't see anything around them, and all their instincts said, push forward, swing, thrust, kick, shove, beat. So, of course, they didn't see the girls running over, a short black-haired woman in the lead. She grabbed at the first available cloth, shoving the wearer to the ground.

"Stop it, now," she screamed, shoving the second fighter in the opposite direction. TJ paused, the voice one he'd recognize anywhere, and Lawson took that as an opportunity to get an even hit in, swinging all his strength behind one punch, connecting with the side of TJ's face. "Teej!"

And then, they were all silent, save for the gasping breath from the two fighters, and the shuffling of the ashamed onlookers. The two boys pulled themselves up, eyeing the ground, bashful now that there were two young women glowering down at them. Spinelli was at TJ's side, tracing her fingers along his cheek worriedly. She pushed down on the now colorful spot and he grimaced.

"Ow, that hurts," he cried out.

"Good, then you won't do this again," Spinelli spat, then turning to Lawson, "And you..." But before she could finish whatever thought was on her tongue, Gretchen stepped forward, slapping the older boy across the cheek.

"Irwin Lawson, how dare you..." she seethed, "It was some fancy joke, wasn't it, asking me out on a date? But then...then, you have the nerve to bother me because I ruined your childish prank! Now, you're dragging my friends into a mess...and...I would have thought better of you, though I don't know why. You are a senior this year, Lawson, grow up!" she turned sharply on her heel, "I would thank you to leave me alone from now on, and also, I demand that since you have destroyed a project I spent a great deal of time on, you go and explain to my teacher what you have caused and I pray, for your sake, that I receive a deadline extension."

"But..." Lawson began.

"Or perhaps I should have a chat with your parents. Or maybe, just maybe, next time you need assistance on your homework assignments, I will take from this experience and simply follow suit by turning you down, yet again," Gretchen snapped, "Perhaps, I shall make a habit of saying 'no' whenever you approach me." He faltered.

"Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled.

"Let's go," Gretchen commanded of the gang, storming back to the school. Mikey and Gus were quick to skip into motion, and Vince smirked at Lawson.

"Get that through your thick head? Don't mess with Gretch," he chuckled, before making his way after the others.

"That's all you're gonna do to him?" Spinelli demanded, shaking her head, and advancing on Lawson. Before anyone could make a move to hinder the attack, her fist connected in a powerful cross-punch that sent Lawson reeling, backwards, his hand coming quickly to his nose, flowing blood, "That's for my boyfriend, you son of a..."

"Spinelli," TJ cried, wrapping his arms around her and attempting to pull her back.

"Hey, you little..." one of Lawson's friends stepped forward menacingly and Spinelli turned a glare on him, growling loudly. He stepped back, his hands raised in front of him defensively, whimpering, "Never mind..." Spinelli finally relinquished her anger, letting TJ lead her away.

"He's a jerk," she muttered, "I hope he learned a lesson from this..."

"It's Lawson, babe, he probably did, but he'll forget it eventually," TJ told her.

"Well, I hope _you_ learned a lesson from this..." TJ gingerly ran his fingers along his bruised cheek.

"Yeah, don't come to you to kiss my ow-ies better," he mumbled. Spinelli stopped as the school doors slammed behind them, her hands resting neatly on her hips.

"What were you thinking anyways, getting in a fight with Lawson like that?"

"Hey, I was defending your honor..." TJ started, but fell short, noting the glower across Spinelli's face.

"When my honor's in trouble, I can defend it perfectly fine myself," she said, "Now how'm I supposed to have you over for dinner with you looking like that? It's bad enough I get in fights all the time, now what'll my parents think when they find out my boyfriend was in a fight recently?"

"Thank God he was there, so that it wasn't our daughter?"

-0-0-

TJ stood at the edge of the Spinellis' lawn, staring up at the house. He coughed slightly, moving his hand to loosen the tie his mother insisted he _had_ to wear. It was a light spring night, a Friday that TJ would rather be spending out with his girlfriend, rather than in with her family. He liked her parents well enough. They were odd, more so than most parents, but friendly and always kind to him. They embarrassed their daughter to no end. He hadn't noticed her until she moved to her feet. Spinelli had been waiting on the porch, sitting quietly in the dark. The porch light flickered on. Her hair was down, a rare look, and brushed out, a rarer look. She was wearing a skirt, that fell down slightly past her feet, it was either too large for her, or meant to be worn with shoes, which she wasn't wearing. She was barefoot, another rare treat. She had on her leather jacket, smiling somewhat at him, half-heartedly, her arms wrapped about herself.

"I'm not late, am I?" he asked, climbing up the porch steps to her.

"Nope," she replied silently, as he kissed her gently. Her lips were cold to the touch, and she was shivering. She'd been sitting out there a while.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling her towards him in an awkward attempt to transfer his warmth.

"Can't stand my parents," she explained, "They're gonna ruin this, I just know it. This time tomorrow, our relationship is over..."

"Don't say that," TJ cried, aghast at the thought, "It'll be fine." She brought her fingers to trail along the bruised cheek, tracing over the scar just below his lip, courtesy of a rock on the ground that Lawson kindly shoved him into, and pausing tenderly along the scrape beneath his chin.

"I guess it's not so bad...it kind of looks like you fell or you're extremely klutzy" she mumbled, "My parents had me set the table, which means this evenings gonna be big and awkward. We usually eat in the living room in front of the TV."

"That's no big deal, I know how to eat at a dining room table," TJ joked, "That's what we eat at in my house. I know how to chat with family members, too, we have these family talks at dinner time, that, while they are a huge pain, they kind of prepare you for these kinds of evenings." Spinelli frowned, obviously not amused.

"I've never had a boyfriend over for dinner," she went on, "My other boyfriends always took me up on the offer of my making lame excuses as to why they couldn't come. Which is fine, you're the only one I ever really wanted to come."

"Thanks...I think," TJ took her hand, leading them up to the door; he paused, held her back, "I love you, Spinelli. It's not the first time I've ever said it, and it's not going to be the last. Whatever happens in there, whatever they say, I love you."

"I love you too, Teej," Spinelli replied, kissing him carefully, "Thanks for not chickening out."

"The night's not over, yet," TJ reminded her, as they entered the Spinelli household.

-0-0-0-0----------------Present Time--------------------0-0-0-0-

We sat around the Spinelli dinner table, them chewing their meal thoughtfully in silence. I pushed my own serving about on the plate in front of me. I had yet to eat any.

"My wife's food not good enough for you?" Bob spoke up, eyeing my dangerously.

"It's fine, I'm just not really hungry," I mumbled my response. Flo was a great cook, I recalled, though Spinelli had never picked up on it.

"He probably just had a big lunch," Vitto suggested silently, and I was glad to have him in my corner, "Right?"

"Yeah," I confirmed in a low whisper. It was a lie, of course. I couldn't really remember if I'd even had anything for lunch. I was fairly certain I hadn't eaten anything at all that day. I really hadn't had much of an appetite for a long while. Not to mention, the past few days were something of a haze. I spent most of the time sleeping. Day and night were kind of blurred, and I wasn't even sure what day it was, let alone what month. My call to Bob had been a spur of the moment thing. I wasn't quite sure why I'd called, at least, not then.

"Why are we wasting time here, if you're not gonna eat anything?" Bob snarled. He wanted to get this over with and I sympathized with his feelings. I didn't want to be there, either, dredging up memories that they obviously felt were better left forgotten. They had stopped eating, Flo putting her fork down and occupying herself with folding her napkin.

"I wanted to...to maybe...I had something to..." I struggled with the words, not sure what to say. They were glowering at me, Bob and Flo. Did I have to say it? They knew I was here to talk about her; did I really have to say it?

"My daughter is gone," Flo finally interrupted, her voice a rigid quaver, "I have come to terms with this. Why...why did you come here to bring this all up again? To hurt us all over again? What is there for us to possibly talk about? There was so much I missed, so much time I lost with my daughter because of you..."

"You can't blame me for that," I interjected, trying as hard as I could to bottle my anger threatening to boil over, "You pushed her away, it was your own choice, I had nothing..."

"You two never should have been married," Flo snapped and I bit into my tongue, forcing my frustrations elsewhere, "You weren't right for each other, you didn't belong together..."

"Ma," Vitto began, but found nothing worth saying. I understood his silence. They were still his parents, he still loved them, and the last thing he wanted to do was get in a fight with them over something he wasn't a part of, no matter how much he disagreed with them about it.

"We were in love," I stated simply, the best argument I could come up with, "We wanted to be married. We wanted to be together. How can you possibly argue that we weren't right for each other? I only ever felt right with her. How can you possibly say we didn't belong together? How can I not belong with the person I love, the person that loves me?"

"I can give you a few reasons," Bob growled, pulling himself onto his feet. I didn't flinch, refused to move, met his eyes with my own. I'd been afraid of Bob most of my life, but I'd never been afraid of standing up for myself. He'd struck me once, and I knew if I gave him the chance, if I just pushed him far enough, he'd do it again. And somehow, I knew it would be satisfying, because it would mean I was right. Bob was always angriest, most violent, when he was being proven wrong.

"I know all the reasons," I retorted, "I wasn't someone you could introduce to your relatives. I wasn't someone you could proudly accept into your family. I wasn't Italian, so I wasn't good enough. I would taint the family line...the pure blood of your ancestors..."

"That had nothing to do with it," Flo all but scoffed, sounding only slightly convinced herself, "She was too young to know what love was. You...you led her against us...you..."

"What?" I demanded, "What did I do? Get her in trouble? Because she did a fine job getting herself in trouble without me, I spent most of my time trying to get her out of trouble. Did I make her rebel? Because she was rebelling way before I came along. Did I..."

"She stopped going to church," Bob roared and I fell silent, meeting his dead glare, fiery stare by fiery stare, "You can't tell me _that_ wasn't your doing." I narrowed my eyes at him, the frustration was too much, the anger, the realization that hit me harder than any fist could that night.

"This isn't just because I'm not Italian, is it? This is because I'm Jewish," I stated firmly. I wanted to think better of them, these people I had known and respected almost my entire life. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but as Bob turned away and Flo lowered her eyes shame-faced, I knew I couldn't. "I didn't make her stop going to church. Religion wasn't a part of our relationship. I don't know why she stopped going, I never asked. Like she never asked why I stopped going to the synagogue. It didn't matter, not to us, so why it should matter to you is beyond me." I lifted myself from the table, shaking my head in disgust, "I shouldn't have come here."

"No, you wanted to talk about my daughter, let's talk about her," Bob sneered, "You claim to have loved her, yet you forced her to give up her life for you."

"I didn't force her to do anything," I replied evenly, "You say you loved her, yet you didn't love her enough to let her be happy, to let her pursue what she wanted."

"Don't you ever accuse me of not loving my daughter," Bob hollered, "If you loved her so much, why don't you tell me why she was in San Diego in the first place." I fell back, looking to the table.

"I..."

"Was she running away from you?" Bob demanded, triumphant almost that he'd found his hitch, something to hold over me.

"No," I snapped.

"Dad," Vitto stepped in, "Will you cut this out?" It wasn't very effective.

"You were too young when you got married, that is without a doubt," Bob went on, "Maybe she started to realize you two were from different worlds. What was in San Diego that she had to go to? Huh? Why'd she go there?"

"I don't know," I flustered, "It's not important..."

"Maybe it is important," Bob pressed, "Maybe she was trying to get away from you. Was your relationship on the rocks? Was that it?"

"No," I protested, but I hardly sounded persuasive.

"We couldn't possibly know, though, because you dragged her away from us...you took her..." Bob went on. I slammed the table, and everyone fell silent.

"She was coming home, she was pregnant, and she was coming home," I yelled, looking away from them. Why had I come here? Why?

"We know," Flo murmured from where she sat. I looked to her, my brow drawn together.

"What?"

"She called us, that day," Flo explained, "She left a message, on our machine. I'm her mother. You didn't want her talking with me, but that didn't mean she didn't talk to me."

"She did a lot of things you aren't aware of," Bob muttered, looking up at me, almost gleefully awaiting my reaction to that statement. I didn't really have one. For three years, they all knew, everyone except me. I was the last one to know. Wasn't I supposed to be the first to know? I stared dully at the table. They knew already. That was why I was here, wasn't it? To tell them about her pregnancy? This pain I was feeling, wasn't it supposed to be their pain too. Wasn't I here to share in something with them, so that maybe we could reconnect, and remember Spinelli the way she was supposed to be remembered, together? "Are you done? Are you done reminding us of the things we lost? Done making our life hell, again, done making us relive that day? You've got a lot of nerve..."

"You didn't tell me," I finally breathed, "You could have told me."

"Hun...we figured you knew," Flo snorted, "But I guess it shouldn't surprise us. She did keep a lot of secrets from you."

"Now if you don't mind," Bob hissed, "My daughter's memory has been bothered enough by you..."

"You don't get it," I whispered, looking up to him, "I don't understand how you don't get it..."

"All I get is that you're here, hurting us again. Haven't you taken our daughter away from us enough?" Bob demanded, "She was our daughter, you have no right to be here talking to us about..."

"I have every right," I said, "You treat me as though I haven't felt this...as though it doesn't hurt me coming here and trying to tell you...like it shouldn't matter to me as much as it does you, because you lost you're daughter. You forget, we both lost something that day, maybe not the same thing..."

"What?" Bob cried, "I lost my child, I buried my child, pray tell me what is worse than having to bury your child?"

"I buried my wife _and_ my unborn child," I answered steadily, "I lost them both that day. At first it was only her, at first I lost only her, and I couldn't even breathe without it hurting. But now, now I've lost this child as well, that I will never know...I've lost more than my love, I've lost my future...I have no life, now. You lost you're daughter, and I am very sorry for that, but you don't respect the fact that I lost everything."

"And you'll remember that," Bob replied snidely, "Until a beautiful woman comes by, and makes you forget. You'll find love again, maybe have children with that woman, maybe marry her...maybe she'll be Jewish and you're parents'll be proud and all will be right in your world. That's right, you lost a wife, but you can always remarry, always regain everything you lost. We lost a child, and that can never be replaced." I looked down to the table and they sat in silence for a long time. With slow, but unhesitant movements, I left the dining room. They didn't call after me, didn't attempt to stop me, they simply resumed eating. They wanted me to leave as much as I wanted to be gone.

I fought the urge to slam that door shut, to trek along that lawn, to pound my fist into that mailbox. Some things just weren't fair. They were allowed to stand there, sneering at me. Maybe they knew all along that this was the reason I was coming. So they could shoot it back down my throat. I stopped at the sidewalk, closed my eyes. I felt her here, the most, on this street. The wind was her breath, her voice whispering in my ear. The light dew in the atmosphere was her touch, against my skin. She was everywhere on this street, laughing, running, playing. This is where she lived. I could walk a little ways, and there would be the school that she had been most alive at, where we had both been most alive, and I would be able to almost make out her outline on that playground, swinging in the swings, kicking sand in the sandbox, climbing on the jungle gym, happy. But I couldn't go there. I refused.

"TJ," a voice called from behind me, and I turned slightly to see Vitto making his way down. He was holding something, a box it looked like, in his hand. He held it out to me, "My parents bought this when...well...it was hers, at least, it was going to be. I think you should have it." I took the box.

"Thanks," I mumbled. He squeezed my shoulder.

"I'm sorry that things turned out this way," he went on.

"You don't have to apologize for them, Vitto."

"I'm not. You know that they don't mean the things they say," he sighed, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, "You know that it isn't because you're not Italian, and it has nothing to do with you being Jewish. They like you, they really do, they just...they think that if she hadn't married you, then she would still be here. They think that if she'd married an Italian Catholic man, like she was supposed to, then she would never have been on a plane, that she would be in some apartment in downtown Chicago, popping out babies, like a good Italian Catholic woman's supposed to. Blaming you...it's their way of dealing with it..."

"Thanks," I said, it sounded wrong. He was trying to help, but he really wasn't. He patted my shoulder, looking to his feet.

"She was my little sister," he started, his voice shaky, "It's not fair. She was supposed to outlive us all. Ma, pop, Joey, me...we were supposed to go before her. But we're all still here, and she's gone. It just doesn't seem right, it doesn't seem fair." I nodded, turning to make my way down the walk. "I know that what he said was wrong," I paused, "What my dad said, about how you'll find someone else. I want you to, you know, move on...but I know that you can't. I know that it's not that easy for you, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," I kept moving. I wrapped my arms around myself; clutching the box Vitto had given me, hearing him reenter his home and close the door behind him. I passed by my parents' house, stopped momentarily, considering going to see my parents, maybe talking to them about Spinelli. I kept moving. I wasn't at that place, again, yet, where I could go see them and talk to them and find solace and sanctuary in their arms. Maybe I never would be.

-0-0-

Gus entered his apartment with a heavy sigh, kicking the door shut with his foot and turning the light on. He set the bag he carried, groceries, on the kitchen counter and grabbed the remote, flicking the television set on. He wasn't particular about the channel, it didn't matter; it was just a buzzing background noise to keep the silence out. He began unpacking the groceries, shoving the milk in the fridge, the cans of beans and soup into the cupboards, neatly stacking things, everything in its place.

There was a picture, of Gus's mother and father, magnetically stuck to the fridge. They were smiling out at him, arms wrapped about each other. It was, maybe, seven or eight years old; he could never remember. They'd gone on a cruise, sent him a postcard for every day they were gone, his mother's lacy handwriting drawn into the soft paper board, digressing all about their trip and the things they'd done that day. He would read each one carefully when it arrived, smiling at humorous moments that she talked about, frowning when something went wrong like rain, or illness. The last postcard had featured this picture. It depicted a happier time.

Gus thought about calling his mother. He hadn't spoken to her in nearly two weeks. He missed her voice. She always understood when there were long periods of time between his calls. _You're in the army_, she'd say, _you have things to do on base, things to preoccupy your time. It's a job_, she'd tell him, _a full-time job. You're father would be proud_. His hand brushed against a piece of paper, a letter with its black type print and U.S. insignia, and it floated to the ground. He didn't bother picking it up, he already knew what it said. He'd read it once, but he already had it memorized word for word. If this was a job, being an officer in the army, than that was his equivalent of a pink slip.

Medical discharge. It was a joke, really. Gus wasn't sick. It was just their way of letting him go, respectably, and, what's more, with benefits. His breakdown on the Crawl hadn't been his first, and it was far from his last. They didn't want to give him a Section 8 discharge because it would ruin him, crush his dignity. As if any discharge could leave him with that.

After reading the letter, Gus had continued as though it meant nothing. He'd done his work on base, filled up his gas tank, gone grocery shopping, come home. Now, he slammed the refrigerator door shut, sinking to the ground. He couldn't keep up the charade any more; tears finally breaking in a run down his cheeks.

"It's all I ever wanted," he sobbed, "I just wanted to make you proud...why? Why would they do this? It's all I ever wanted...how could they take that from me...why would they take that from me? It's all I had...dad...I'm so sorry..."

-0-0-

I got home, tossed the box on the kitchen table and poured myself a drink from my half-empty bottle of gin. It wasn't that I drank more these days, more so, that I poured myself drinks more these days. I would stare at the glass, will the liquid to slip down my throat, but at the end of the night, dump the contents of the cup down the sink and turn in for bed having never had so much as a sip. I guess I felt I didn't deserve it, the pleasure of being drunk.

I sat down at the table in that chair. The chair I'd sat in that morning as that man on the other end of the line told me my wife was dead. I'd thought about throwing it out, but that didn't make sense. Don't kill the messenger, right? Don't shoot a perfectly good horse? I looked at that box Vitto had handed me. It was white, thin, and cheap, not meant to storage anything, so much, as to just hold it for a short and temporary point of time. I pushed my drink away, staring at the shaky clear liquid in the cup. I dragged the box towards me, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't want to open it, didn't want to see what was inside. I lifted the top off, frowning, still as death, my breathing haggard, and tears rimming my eyes. I lifted the first one, my hands shaking. It was a shirt, small, almost like doll clothes. I ran my fingers along the soft cotton collar, the puckered out sleeves, the design decaled on the front. I set it back into the box, put the lid back on, stood up, and emptied my glass in the sink. I slipped into the bathroom. A shower seemed practical at the moment.

I turned the water on, soothed by the sounds of droplets berating against the white porcelain. I removed my clothes, glancing once in the mirror at my bare skin. I could almost recall her fingers tracing along that skin, could almost feel it, like a ghost that's almost there, but not quite. It's my way of teasing myself, remembering these things, my own way of cutting into my flesh with a razor edge, drawing out the blood without ever leaving a mark. I stepped into the shower, closed the curtain and let the water fall over my body, hoping to wash away my tensions, angers, frustrations, and misery.

I leaned against the cool tile, closed my eyes, and pressed the chill touch into my skin, mixing it with the scalding warmth of the water. _It doesn't seem fair_. Vitto didn't know the half of it. _I know it's not that easy for you_. Living wasn't easy, moving on was impossible. For a moment, rage thrust through my veins, and I slammed my fist into the rack that held the shampoo bottles, the soap bottles, the razor...

I drew my arm back, startled by the stinging. My eyes were wide, and I examined the slice in my skin, the blood streaming down, bubbling out of the wound. I picked up the razor, stared blankly at the clean edge. I was afraid of the thoughts that holding this razor put in my mind. I pressed the edge against the flesh of my wrist where the blue veins were thick, tracks that my blood cells raced through.

It was cold, sharp, exacting against my skin. It flashed silver along pinkish tan. My breathing was quick, soft, heavy. I could almost see it slice through my vein, see the blood gushing out, spurting onto the bathtub bottom. I could almost feel the world slip away. I wanted to feel the world slip away. It would be so easy. The pain would be immense, wonderfully immense. I could watch it swirl away, stain the perfect white of the room, and then, I would stop feeling, I would drift to sleep. Sleep. I wanted to sleep. I closed my eyes, chewed my bottom lip, and placed the razor back where it belonged, there on the little rack shelf.

"I'm a coward...huh?" I whispered, laying my forehead against the tile of the shower, the droplets, like rain, biting into my back. I watched the blood trail down my arm, mingle with the bath water and slip through the drain, "You could have done it...in an instant, you would have...I'm not strong enough to live, and I'm not strong enough to kill myself, either. Why did you have to be so much stronger than me? Why did you have to go to San Diego? Why did you leave me?" I closed my eyes, slumping to the ground. The water was turning cold, and I was feeling lightheaded from the loss of blood. "I need you..." I told the empty air. I turned the water off, sitting there in the steam that had filled the bathroom. A shower accomplished nothing. Somehow, it only made things hurt more.

I could hear the phone ringing outside of the bathroom. The answering machine could take a message. I missed my wife.

* * *

END A/N: Well...well, well...anyone shocked? Appalled even? Dissapointed?   
Originally, the flashback was going to focus on TJ's first dinner with the Spinellis as Spin's boyfriend, but then it became about something at school and then...yeah...and I liked it and I didn't want to get rid of it, or change it...so...I like this better...I think...

I thought maybe I would impart on you some of the songs I listen to while writing this story, songs that inspire me to write it, so that maybe you could listen to them while reading:

Sleep by The Dandy Warhols,   
Let That Be Enough by Switchfoot   
Broken Bridge by Daughter Darling   
The Freshman by Verve Pipe   
She's Always a Woman & She's Got A Way by Billy Joel   
Angel of Mine by Monica   
Boulevard of Broken Dream by Green Day   
It Is You (I Have Loved) by Dana Glover (Shrek Soundtrack)   
This Years Love by David Gray   
Foolish Games & Pieces of You & Near You Always & Who Will Save Your Soul by Jewel   
Don't Leave Home by Dido   
I Love You Always Forever by Donna Lewis

That's it. Good songs, sad songs, sweet songs. I love all those songs.

Now that you've read the story, let me know what you've thought. It's not hard, just hit the little button on the bottom of the screen and type to your hearts desire. Maybe just ramble, I love rambling, let me know how you are, drop me a line. Basically, what I'm saying here is, REVIEW!

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and THANKS FOR READING.

You are dismissed. Cry if you need to. We won't think less of you...sniffle...


	11. Don't Tread On These Buds pt1

A/N: First of all, I'm posting chapter 10 in much the same format I did chapter 4 (in two posts), though it's still all one chapter. I've decided to do this for two main reasons: 1) It's getting long, 2) I haven't posted in awhile and I thought I'd give you guys something to read to end my dry spell. Second of all, for some odd reason, the stories I've posted prior to the recent ff site's update are not showing me the reviews that have been posted...um...post the ff site's update. I know for a fact that there are two reviews for the last chapter that have recently been submitted that I have been unable to view; which ticks me off. I've e-mailed the ff site's technical support for answers...but...uh...they haven't gotten back to me. Yup, just had to explain that.

Thanks to the reviewers: (Especially those two reviewers who's reviews I can't see, don't want them to feel forgotten)

TNPD: I'm glad you approved of the religion-thing, I wasn't really sure how people would take it...but then, I shouldn't have been worried.

Soul-of-Camida: Thanks for your outstanding appraisel of my work. You rock, much, with your lengthy reviews, and exuberance. Mmm...I don't know if TJ will ever make up with the Spinellis. It would be nice, though, wouldn't it?

RavenForever: Props to you for singing the rest of that song! 11:30...huh...that's funny, I probably wrote most of it at 11:30 at night. Yeah, I liked the car thing.

ChellyBurger: Speaking of exuberance...hehe...poor TJ...hmmm...1984? Orwell, right? Never read it, but that sounds interesting...but then, we have to look at what the "truth" is. Maybe what we remember is the "truth", because we percieve...ooo...too much...I am not pulling out that Kant/Plato/Hummings crap that I'm supposed to be learning in philosophy class! Hmm...YAY KITTIES!

DAGL: Stop what? wuf...wuf...hehehehe...

In order to determine the truth, one must first disregard all preconcieved notions of what is "truth", so as to search out the truth without any preordained boundaries placed upon your mind...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 10: Don't Tread On These Buds 

Vince tightened the heavy coat around himself, frowning at the front counter of the hospital. It was busy in there, the woman behind the counter was working rapidly; answering phones, greeting patients as they entered, getting things signed. Vince had never seen such a mess. He made his way forward and was nearly bowled over when a woman rushed past, her child clutched in her arms.

"What is this?" the woman cried, jerking her child's arm over the counter for the secretary to see.

"I…well…I don't know, ma'am but it looks like a simple rash to me," the secretary sputtered.

"A rash? A _rash_? It's all red, and dried out, and he won't stop scratching it!" the woman screeched, "And you're telling me this is a rash? What if he has the chicken pox, or _small pox_! Oh god, what if he has small pox. I've heard they've had recent cases of the strain…"

"Ma'am, if you'll please sit down, I can have a doctor take a look at it soon, but I assure you, it's probably nothing more than a rash," the secretary clucked. The woman "harrumphed" and made her way to the waiting room, a clipboard with several papers and a pen in her hands. Vince stepped forward cautiously, smiling down at the secretary almost sympathetically.

"Hi," he greeted.

"Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly, happy to be dealing with a less than exuberant person.

"I'm here to see…um…Gretchen Grundler," he told her.

"Dr. Grundler? Do you have an appointment?"

"Oh, no, I'm not a patient," Vince coughed slightly, clearing his throat, "I'm a friend." The secretary gave him a once over, smiled approvingly, and nodded.

"Dr. Grundler is with a patient right now," the secretary told him, "But I can tell her you're here and she'll…"

"Could you tell her it's important," Vince mumbled. The secretary raised an eyebrow reproachfully. She obviously didn't approve of his seeming attitude that he should trump Gretchen's patients.

"Who should I tell her is here?"

"Tell her it's Vince, and the gang needs her."

"The gang?"

"She'll understand." The secretary looked doubtful, but swiveled, lifting her phone and quickly paging Gretchen.

"Dr. G," the secretary said, "There's a man here who says he has something important to discuss with you. Says his name is Vince, and that…erm…that gang needs you? Dr. G? Dr. G? Hello?" The other end of the line was dead, and the door down the hall slammed open, a redheaded woman rushing down the hall to the lobby, a balding man staring out the door after her. The people in the waiting room looked up, startled, and the secretary turned slightly, all of them taken aback by her haste presence. She was in front of Vince at once, her face splotched red, her eyes wide, her bottom lip trembling.

"It's TJ isn't it? Is he okay? What's going on?" she demanded.

"Calm down, Gretchen," Vince chuckled, somewhat nervously, "It's not TJ."

"Mikey, then? Oh god, please tell me he's not in the hospital again!"

"No, it's Gus," Vince mumbled. Gretchen frowned, her brow furrowed together.

"Gus?"

"He's been discharged," Vince explained, "Medical discharge. I just…I thought it would be best if we all went down there. He's not taking the news well. Mikey's already over there, and TJ…I figured we could pick TJ up on the way over."

"I have patients," Gretchen began, glancing around the room. The woman with the child rushed over, shoving her way in front of Vince.

"Dr. Grundler," the woman cried, practically shoving her child's arm into Gretchen's face, "What is this?"

"Ma'am, you have to sit in there and wait," Gretchen told her, glancing apologetically to Vince.

"Well, he came after me," the woman snapped, "What is wrong with my child's arm?" Vince shook his head, turning to leave.

"Vince, wait, please," Gretchen pleaded, turning to the woman and narrowing her eyes, "It's a rash, ma'am. Just sprinkle some baby powder on and…"

"I want you to take blood tests, to investigate this, to give me an answer without a reasonable doubt," the woman screeched, "I want to know exactly what is causing this, and I want it gone in…"

"Gretchen, I'm going," Vince sighed, "With everything that's been going on…you're a doctor now, I get it. I mean, I can leave in the middle of a game, and Mikey can cancel a press conference, but you have patients. I understand. I'll see you."

"Why are you trying to make me feel guilty about my career choice," Gretchen demanded, enraged by his comment.

"I'm not, I'm just saying I understand," Vince argued, "If you feel guilty, it's not my fault. I'll explain to Gus…but what would you have done, huh, if it had been TJ? Or if it had been Mikey? You still couldn't have left your patients. It's like with Spinelli…"

"I can't believe you would bring that up," Gretchen hissed, glancing around nervously. They had the attention of everyone in the lobby. "You know I was in the OR when I found out about her…I couldn't leave that patient lying open on the table!"

"And even after the operation was done," Vince spat, "You helped three more patients, that weren't _lying open on the table_. I had to drag you out of there."

"So what are you trying to accuse me of? Are you insinuating that I consider my patients to be more important than the rest of the gang?"

"No, but that sure as hell is the picture I'm getting here! She was dead, and you couldn't get your ass out of the clinic! You didn't even cry until we got to TJ's house, and even then, I think maybe it was because he was upset more so than you were," Vince shouted.

"I can't believe you," Gretchen whispered roughly, "I lost my best friend that day…how dare you accuse me of…I'm sorry if I have a job that's a little more important than hitting a ball around, but I can't just drop everything when one of my friends has a little emergency and needs support!"

"No, I'm sorry," Vince muttered, shaking his head, and stepping back towards the exit, "I'm really sorry. I mean, what are you expecting to be an emergency I should come get you for? Let's see, Gus getting discharged _is_ a little childish, I suppose; minor to say the least. So what if it's the one thing he worked his entire life towards. You're right; it's a little, tiny emergency. No big deal. Now, Spinelli's death didn't seem to be a great emergency either, did it? Because you still had to help the patients, they were still more important, weren't they? You're right, the patients are more important than your closest friend, the best friend you've had since kindergarten, dying. What constitutes as an emergency, Gretch? What do you want Gus to do, huh? Kill himself? No, wait; you're waiting for TJ to do that, aren't you? Tell you what; I'll come get you when TJ has killed himself. Maybe that'll be a slight bit more important than helping the patients, because Lord knows you're the only doctor on staff in this hospital." He stepped out of the sliding doors, nearly colliding with a couple on their ways in, tersely apologizing and disappearing.

Gretchen looked around briefly at the people staring intently at her. She chewed her lower lip, aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks, trembling. What did Vince want her to do? She couldn't honestly just leave the hospital. She had patients waiting for her to treat them, and talk to them, and see them. She made her way out the door following Vince. The conversation wasn't over. He may have decided to end it, but it was not over.

Vince had stopped in the parking garage, leaned against a pillar, silently berating himself.

"What is my problem?" he whispered, closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. The past few weeks had been hell. Mikey's intervention. TJ finding out…Vince was afraid of what he'd find at that house when he got there. He hadn't spoken to TJ since that day at the Blumberg estate.

"Hey," Gretchen was making her way over, she still looked angry, but her eyes had clouded over with concern, "What's with you? You can't be understanding about my career? I save lives, Vince, it doesn't mean I'm placing them above you guys, it's just…"

"What if it was me?" Vince questioned, "What if something I'd worked my entire life for was gone, just like that? Would the patients still be more important, or would you be by my side?" Gretchen looked away, wetting her lips.

"I don't understand what you're talking about, Vince. You're here for Gus…"

"I'm out, Gretch. I'm off the team. I've been flaking lately, trying to hold the gang together, trying to be there for everyone…and…I've been missing practices, screwing up my pitches…I walked out on a game today, Gretch, coach told me if I left then I was benched for the season and that was it. My career's over, because I had to be there for Gus, and I thought, maybe you would have the same kind of dedication…or at the very least, you could act like you did."

"I'm sorry, Vince, I didn't know," Gretchen whispered, "I do care…but…I can't deal with this forever, Vince. I want my life to be normal and the only way I can think of to be normal is to just keep treating the patients," she leaned next to him, their shoulders barely touching, "TJ, Mikey, and now Gus, their lives are ruined because of this. And you…I don't want to let my life be ruined too…but…" her voice caught, choking on the sob struggling to escape, "It's not fair of you to accuse me of caring more about my patients than the gang. I'm trying so hard to keep my life from spinning out of control and…and…"

"If we don't stick together, Gretch, then the world will spin out of control. I'm going to go see Gus, come with me," Vince said determinedly. Gretchen nodded solemnly.

"Let me just tell Sandy at the counter, and see if Dr. Holmestead will cover for me."

-0-0-

TJ lay on the floor of his living room, staring up at the ceiling. There was a time when he would lay there with his wife, talking, while the television that they were supposed to be watching buzzed in the background. He would tell her a joke he'd heard that day, and she'd pretend to think he were being immature, rolling her eyes, and muffling the laughter that wanted to escape from inside her. She'd curl her fingers in his shirt, and whisper ridiculous things in his ear, trailing kisses along his cheek and jaw line. Sometimes they'd lay silent, holding hands, fingers entwined. She'd break the momentary reverie, saying that she loved him, as though it needed to be said, and he would smile. He frowned now.

It was lonely on the floor.

There was a knock at the front door. TJ sighed, closing his eyes. They'd go away, they always do. It was the third time that day someone had come calling at his doorstep. He was beginning to wonder why he'd suddenly become so popular, not that he cared either way. The knock came again and he rolled on his side, trying to erase the image of his wife lying next to him, he could almost see her there, almost feel her next to him. It was painful. A knock, again, sharper this time.

"Go away," he muttered. There was silence. He listened to his own soft breathing for a moment, pulling himself up into a sitting position. He used to watch her sleep, his head laying against her breast, listening to her heart beat as her chest rose and fell. He'd study her face, not that he didn't already have every inch, every curve, every contour memorized. She looked different when she slept. Her lips, the corners, would naturally curl up into a small smile as she dreamed. She looked vulnerable, delicate, simple, and beautiful. But, then, she always looked beautiful.

There was shuffling at the door, and TJ fell back again, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Go away," he moaned again. He heard the door opening as people shifted through the entryway and moved into the living room.

"Teej?" He didn't bother looking. He didn't need to look to know that the owner of that voice was Vince. Just as he didn't need to look to know that the person with Vince, who was fidgeting slightly, was none other than Gretchen. "What are you doing on the floor, man?" Vince asked. There was a hitch in his voice, and TJ knew that meant something was wrong.

"What happened now?" TJ mumbled, "You recently find out my wife got a dog while she was in San Diego and it died in the plane crash too?"

"You sure know how to welcome guests, man," Vince muttered, "Get up, we have to go see Gus."

"What for?"

"He received a medical discharge, didn't he call you?" TJ pulled himself up into a sitting position, blinking around the room, and looking to his phone. The cord was strewn along the ground, pointing almost threateningly at him.

"I unplugged it," he explained, "It wouldn't stop ringing." Vince rolled his eyes, extending a hand to help TJ up. "I can't go see Gus. I prefer being here."

"TJ, Gus needs us, can we please…"

"I need to be alone," TJ mumbled, ignoring the hand, "I need to…" he looked around the room, a bit disoriented, "I should clean."

"TJ, are you alright?" Gretchen whispered carefully.

"No," TJ muttered, pulling himself to his feet, and looking around with a weary glower, "I went to see the Spinellis." It was odd, the way Gretchen and Vince simultaneously drew in their breaths.

"For?" Gretchen asked.

"I'm not certain, but I think I was just going to check if they still hated me. They do, if you're wondering," TJ said, then, "Oh, and a new revelation, they think she died because I'm Jewish."

"That can't be true," Gretchen whispered, "You must be wrong. They can't think that."

"Oh…but they can. And they do." TJ made his way into the kitchen. Gretchen and Vince watched as he left, disappearing from sight.

"This isn't good," Gretchen whispered, "He's reverting back to his 'safe' lifestyle."

"What do you mean?"

"He unplugged his phone, he's refusing to leave the house, we find him lying on the floor doing nothing," Gretchen explained, "He wouldn't answer the door. It's like those three years after…he's only recently just left the house. He was making progress…and now…what with finding out she was pregnant, and then going to speak with her parents…we have to take him with us to Gus's place, no matter what."

"Are you sure? Maybe you're overreacting."

"Vince," Gretchen sighed, "This is his safe place, his cocoon. He locks himself in here, and he doesn't have to face the outside world, doesn't have to face the fact that she's really gone. He shuts out the world, surrounds himself with pictures of her, and her things, and their things, and pretends she might come back. We have to take him out of here, before he shuts himself up completely, again."

-0-0-

Mikey opened the front door of Gus's apartment, frowning solemnly out at the firm faces of the rest of the gang. Vince stood in front, meeting Mikey's eyes with a nod of acknowledgement. Gretchen stood beside him, studying the ground. TJ was in the background, looking slightly dejected and jaded. His noncommittal interest in the people around him all but indicated his utter disgust in being there, more so than any of the others.

"Who's there?" came a slur from the apartment.

"He's been drinking," Mikey whispered, looking weary and on edge. He needed to get out of there; it was obvious, away from the scent of alcohol. "I'm going to a press conference, I can't push it back any longer. I was hoping…well, I wanted you guys to be there, but Gus needs you. Will you…will you guys watch channel 8 at ten o'clock tonight?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Mikey," Vince nodded. They exchanged a quick embrace, as Vince made his way into the apartment, and Mikey threw his arms around Gretchen.

Gus was slumped on the couch, a bottle of vermouth in his hand, remote control in the other. He looked at a complete loss, his eyes glazed over, a slight bit of drool making its way down his lower lip. His clothes were rumpled and he was watching the television, which was all snowflakes.

"I hate this show," Vince commented, slapping Gus's knee gently, before taking a seat next to him and examining the bottle, "You know, you're not supposed to drink this stuff straight up." Gus rolled his head to look at Vince.

"Erm…"

The door shut, and Gretchen slipped to the couch on the other side of Gus, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. TJ leaned against the closed door, his arms crossed in front of his chest, scowling at Gretchen and Vince. They'd practically had to drag him from his house, shoving him in the car. He'd begged, pleaded, and demanded they leave him, to no avail.

"How are you doing, buddy?" Vince asked, trying to hide the dire concern in his voice as he peered into Gus's plaster face. Gus ran his tongue over his chapped lips, raising the bottle to his mouth and taking a long drawl, before lowering it again and gasping, sputtering, coughing.

"I'm fine…" he mumbled, "Just fine…crazy…yup…crazy. Didn't have anything to drink…went to the store, bought plenty to drink. You want a drink?" He pushed the bottle towards Vince.

"No thanks, man," Vince said, staring disgustedly at the clear liquid. He hated liquor, knowing it ruined Mikey's life, and from the looks of things, stood to ruin Gus's as well.

"They're laughing at me…" Gus went on, tears fluttering along his lashes, "Ha, ha…stupid kid, thinks he's a little soldier…he's a soldier alright, a little toy soldier…"

"Gus, that's not true. Nobody is laughing at you," Gretchen assured him silently, slipping her arm over his shoulder, "You received a medical discharge, there's nothing wrong with that."

"Nope…" he muttered, "Nothing wrong with being crazy…so long as they don't tell you to your face, 'hey, you crazy, man'. Nothing wrong with that…"

"It's not a Section 8, Gus," Vince argued, "You'll find something else, you're life's not over."

"I saw the picture go," Gus whispered, half-sobbing, "It broke…and it was my fault…my father said…he said, 'do me proud, private', and…and now…he's not proud. Not proud, huh, dad?"

"I don't doubt your father is proud of you," Gretchen said, "You've achieved everything he wanted you to, and so much more."

"And threw it all away…blown away, dust in the wind…bye-bye," Gus chuckled cynically, sipping more from the bottle, "And still, there's nothing."

"You are crazy, Gus," TJ spoke up, his voice shaky yet determined, "You think it matters. You think he cares. He's dead, what does he care. You're hardly alive yourself. You keep living for him…I keep living for her…we might as well just turn over and die. We lose what's important, and then we lose everything else. It's like pouring salt in the wound. They don't care, why should we?"

"They gave us this…these lives," Gus whispered, "You're right, they're dead, and they can't care anymore, so we have to care for them. You may be dead inside, TJ, and she's disappointed in you, because of it. She cared a great deal…and you have to care for her…but you're not doing a very good job. I couldn't care for both of them…I couldn't…I can't keep going…it's not fair…"

"No," TJ muttered, "It's not fair, and it's never going to be fair. Get over it."

"Like you're getting over it?" Gus snapped.

"They say time heals all wounds. They're wrong. As time goes on everything hurts more. It's like…like…like I didn't lose her all at one, like I'm losing her a little each day. I am dead inside, Gus, but you aren't. So you lost your job, big fucking deal. They didn't rip your heart out and leave this void behind; they simply took something you worked for. Work for something else now, get out of the goddamned house, maybe fall in love, get married, make children, get a dead-end job that sucks the soul from your body little by little each time you clock in at the beginning of the day. That's life. It's _not_ fair. But it's all you got, the one guarantee you're given. You're going to live a miserable existence while you die a slow painful death.

"I can afford to lock myself away from life, because I _am_ dead. My body just doesn't know it yet. I don't want the ghosts, my house, the four walls that surround me as I play dead. I need them. I thought she taught you to be strong. I thought she taught you all to be strong, because maybe she knew she wasn't going to be here for you guys. If she's disappointed in anyone, it's all of you. She must have known that I could never learn to be strong enough to lose her. But I loved her. She was my wife. What's your guys' excuse?"

-0-0-0-0---------------August 1997-----------------0-0-0-0-

Gus shrunk against the tile wall of the boys' room. As far as first days of school went, his was a major pain. Eighth grade. Eighth graders were the top of the middle school chain. Wasn't he supposed to be picking on the younger kids, waltzing through the halls like top dog, and exerting his seniority? Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of camaraderie between eighth graders? Weren't they all supposed to be connected in a way, knowingly acknowledging one another as being on the same level? Isn't that how it's supposed to work?

No. Not for Gus. Apparently the rules didn't apply to him. Bullies still followed him wherever he went, still sneered down at him. Bullies like James Adder. It seemed that somehow, bullies chose their targets the first day of school, those they would torment for some reason or another, for the entire year. Maybe they drew names from a hat. That must be it, Gus decided, they drew names from a hat and his was the lucky name James Adder drew.

_"What's going on, worm breath," James had said the moment Gus walked through the double doors of the school. Gus was alone; his father had dropped him off early that morning. The rest of the gang would be waiting in front of the library, their designated meeting place. When James had spoken, Gus wasn't certain whom the larger young man was speaking to. Certainly Gus wasn't this 'worm breath', certainly James was zeroing in on some younger less fortunate seventh grader. He was wrong, of course, and knew it immediately when James stepped in his path._

_"How's it going?" Gus had attempted to greet his new obstacle nonchalantly._

_"Not well," James answered slyly, "My fist just ran into a little geek's pus face." Without so much as a decent warning, James flung his fist through the air, catching the side of Gus's jaw, and sending the smaller young man sprawling._

_"Hey," Gus cried out, "What did I do to deserve that?" Though he immediately regretted it._

_"A lot of things," James had sneered, grabbing Gus's collar and pulling their faces mere inches from one another, "But my favorite reason is probably simply because you exist." Gus could only cower, attempting to press himself against the lockers, wishing he could shrink from existence._

_"Hey, asshole," came an unpleasant jeer. James turned, and Gus felt his insides sink. He knew that voice all too well. "Drop the kid, and I won't have to hurt you." Spinelli stood before them, hands on her hips. The small group of students that had gathered around in hopes of seeing a poor schmuck get creamed had opened up, allowing the young woman passage._

_"Oh, I'm so scared of a little girl," James chuckled mockingly. He'd never met Spinelli before, and while her reputation preceded her, he didn't recognize her face. The other kids, most of whom did know Spinelli, gasped slightly, backing away in fear of the short young woman's fiery temper. She clenched her hands into tight balls, her lip curling up into a sneer._

_"What did you just call me?" she demanded._

_"Get lost," James muttered, turning his attention back to Gus. It was quite fearsome, when Spinelli grabbed James's jacket and threw him back first against the wall of lockers. He was shaken, obviously, and confused. How dare this _little girl_ as he called her jostle him like so._

_"I asked what you just called me, you pubescent punk-ass piece of shit," Spinelli spat, her eyes alight with rage. It was one thing to pick on one of her friends, but an entirely different story to disregard her altogether._

_"Who the hell do you think you are?" James cried scathingly, straightening menacingly._

_"Oh, did I not introduce myself? Name's Spinelli, what's yours, turd face?" James paled slightly. Yes, Spinelli's reputation definitely preceded her._

_"Spinelli? Ashley Spinelli?" There was the sound of knuckles cracking as Spinelli tightened her fist. James backed up, pressing himself against the locker a position Gus had recently found himself in. "Look, we have no problem here, I'm on my way. Gone, like this, see…" he squirmed his way through the crowd, turning back to glower at Gus momentarily. "I'll be back, when your little girlfriend isn't around."_

Of course, that had been in the morning. Things had gone downhill from there for Gus, slowly transgressing from bad to worse. He received snickers of mockery as he made his way down the halls from class to class. Loser Griswold, not only did he get the crap beat out of him by James Adder, but he had to have a girl stick up for him. Even those who knew it was Spinelli, and knew she was the toughest kid in school, still laughed at him. It didn't matter how tough she was; she was still a girl. And James did exact his revenge that day. Again, and again, and again. Tripping Gus in the hallways, throwing things at him during class, running into him and making him drop his lunch, pouring something gooey and sticky in his locker, and so many other things Gus couldn't begin to list. It was finally between fifth and sixth period that Gus hid away in the bathroom, slumping against the tile wall and frowning at the rows of urinals and sinks.

"I'm a nerd," Gus told the gray blue walls, "And a wuss to boot."

-0-0-

TJ balanced his pencil on the desktop, staring disinterestedly up at the chalkboard. He narrowed his eyes to study the back of the head of the girl in front of him. She was a brunette, her hair pulled into a sweeping ponytail. The end would swish along his desk whenever she moved her head. She'd lean forward, to take notes or write something down, then slump back in her chair and listen intently as the teacher talked. There was a mole, on the back of her neck, creeping along almost to her right shoulder. TJ sighed, leaning back into his chair, and looking around the room.

Spinelli sat in the far corner. That's where TJ's eyes came to rest. She was supporting her cheek in her hand, her elbow propped up on the desk. Her eyes were half-open, her pencil dragging along the paper in front of her, drawing circles within circles. She'd let her hair down that day, probably too lazy to tie it up that morning. It looked like she'd showered the night before. She was letting her bangs grow out, so they were in the transitional period of growth in which they weren't as long as the rest of her hair, but they weren't short enough to be bangs anymore. She was wearing a brown t-shirt; it was fairly loose, long, coming down to her hips. Faded, old, probably belonged to one of her older brothers in a time long forgot. She lived for accessories those days, anything black, preferably studded or with spikes. Rings lined her fingers, sterling silver, and she was proudly displaying the fourth hole she'd gotten in her right ear. She only had three in the other. She'd been afraid to get her ears pierced the first time. TJ had gone with her. He had held her hand, as the gun clicked an earring through the marrow of her lobe. She enjoyed it, obviously.

TJ sighed slightly. The boy next to Spinelli was busy drawing on her hand. TJ didn't know the boy's name, yet, but Spinelli evidently knew him already. They talked in light whispers when they'd saw one another in class, but the tardy bell had rung before TJ could join them. It bothered TJ, how informal this boy was acting around her. He didn't know why, though. It shouldn't bother him, should it? Maybe it should. Spinelli's his friend, not that boy's. TJ frowned. How pathetic did that sound?

Spinelli stirred slightly, noticing TJ. They met eyes and she smiled lightly. TJ flushed, biting his tongue until the taste of blood filled his mouth, and turning back to the front. The bell rang, and the class returned to wakefulness, flooding the doorway. Spinelli waved good-bye to the boy, lifting her backpack. TJ waited as she joined him, grinning and showing the doodle-work on her hand.

"He asked me to go with him to the Welcome Back Dance," she said.

"Oh?" TJ returned, trying to sound as happy as she did, "What did you say?"

"I told him sure," she piped, and TJ felt an odd stinging in his chest. What was wrong with him? "He's a cool guy. He's gonna be a professional skater."

"Is that even a job?" TJ clamped his mouth shut, immediately regretting the snide comment. Spinelli occupied herself with the straps of her backpack, frowning at her boots.

"I like him. Is that alright with _you_?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it," TJ argued, "Can we hurry up and get out of this place? I'm starving. Is it just me, or does the cafeteria food get less and less edible every year?"

"They're slowly getting us used to eating crappier and crappier food, so that eventually they'll be feeding us cardboard boxes slathered in gravy. It lacks nutritional value, but hey, it's cheaper," Spinelli laughed, and TJ grinned, slipping his arm over her shoulders.

"This year really whomps," he told her, and she nodded agreement, "Sharing lockers because of overcrowding in the school? And worse, _assigned_ locker buddies! How'm I supposed to share my locker with someone I hardly know?"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Spinelli conceded, "I may want to put personal things in there."

"And the ridiculous dress codes they're implementing?"

"Hey, at least we're out of this joint before they start enforcing school uniforms. Next year's rabble have the pleasure of dealing with that shit."

"Not to mention, I only have two classes with you."

"Yeah," Spinelli fell silent, staring somberly at the floor tile passing beneath their feet, "And we hardly see the other guys. Vince has to have that weird schedule worked around his sports; Gretch and Gus are taking all those advanced classes, and Mikey with his art and drama stuff. How we supposed to keep the gang together, if the gang's not…well…together?"

"Don't worry about it, Spin," TJ reassured her, "Our friendship's been through rougher times. This is nothing compared to that little mishap in fourth grade, when…_for some odd reason_, my good, close friends decided I needed to choose one of them above the others as my best friend."

"I wonder where they got that crazy idea in their heads…" Spinelli chuckled sheepishly, "That one of them had to be number one in your book?" Then she eyed him coyly, "Out of curiosity, though, who would you say is your best friend?" TJ rolled his eyes.

"Oh, definitely you," he droned sarcastically, receiving a restrained but painful jab in the ribs. He winced, groaning slightly, as they came upon the rest of the gang standing around the front doorway of the school. Vince was talking, undoubtedly about his day, as Mikey and Gretchen listened intently, nodding, smiling, and laughing in the appropriate places.

"Hey, where's Gus?" TJ questioned, looking around. He was nowhere in sight.

"I figured he was coming with you guys," Vince said, shrugging, "His last class was down the same hall as yours, wasn't it?"

"Didn't see him," TJ shrugged.

"Shall we look for him?" Gretchen asked.

"I'll go, you guys stay here in case he comes," Spinelli volunteered, rolling her eyes as she headed back down the hall.

"I'll come with you," Mikey offered, following before she could protest. The remaining three stood around at the entryway looking to one another.

"So…" Vince started, "How was your day?"

Spinelli marched down the hall, lips pursed, and glowering down any student that so much as looked at her funny. Mikey had to jog to catch up to her, reaching her out of breath. He gripped her shoulder for support, gasping for air.

"You walk fast," he proclaimed, finally straightening and attempting to keep up with her determined strut.

"I want out of this place, and I'm pounding Gus when I see him for keeping me longer than I'd like," Spinelli spat. She paused, stopping at the classroom that Gus had the last period. It was empty already. She sighed, leaning against the door and looking to Mikey. "Where to now?"

"Maybe he stopped at the restroom?" Mikey suggested, and they both turned to look at the bathrooms across the hall. Spinelli sighed, motioning Mikey forward.

"I can't go in there," she said. Mikey nodded, moving across the hallway into the boys' restroom. Spinelli rolled her eyes, taking up position by the water fountains. It wasn't long before Mikey came back out, Gus in tow, giving a half-hearted smile to Spinelli. "What's with you?" she asked.

"Nothing," Gus shrugged, "Had a bad day. But it's over now, huh?"

"Yeah, can we blow this Popsicle stand already?" They walked together down the hall to where the others were standing, waiting. They greeted Gus whole-heartedly, and a full smile finally made its way across his face.

They left the school together, agreeing that shakes at Kelso's was a great way to celebrate the end of the first day. They sat at a booth, greeting the old man Kelso pleasantly.

"Ah, my favorite customers," he smiled, "What'll it be, let me guess; three chocolate shakes, a sundae, and two root beer floats?"

"Thanks, Mr. Kelso," they piped, and he nodded, disappearing into the back to prepare their order.

"What's with you, Gus?" TJ asked, "You've been acting weird since we left school?" It was true. The young man had been silent, walking with lowered eyes the entire way, failing to laugh at the numerous jokes and anecdotes his friends had been exchanging.

"I told you it was nothing," Gus mumbled.

"Not thinking about that bully this morning, are 'ya?" Spinelli inquired, and Gus frowned at the table.

"What bully?" Vince demanded.

"Just some jerk," Spinelli shrugged, "He was nothing. Ran off with his tail between his legs when I showed up."

"Yeah, when you showed up," Gus muttered angrily.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Spinelli asked, "You wanted me to let him cream you, that it?"

"I…no…well…"

"Here we are," Kelso announced, interrupting their conversation as he laid their orders out appropriately, "Sundae for Spinelli, chocolate shake for Vince, Mikey, TJ, and a root beer float for Gretchen and Gus. Enjoy kids."

"Thanks, Mr. Kelso," they all mumbled once more, and he smiled, nodding in acknowledgement as he slipped behind the counter, greeting another group of customers entering, chattering excitedly. The gang sipped at their individual desserts in silence.

"So…um…Gretchen, Gus, how are those advanced classes treating you?" TJ asked, attempting to break the awkward quiet.

"It's fascinating," Gretchen chirped, "I mean, certainly we won't be going over quantum mechanics any time soon, but my fellow classmates make for good physics debates."

"Which, undoubtedly, you always win," Mikey commented. Spinelli narrowed her eyes at Gus who was focusing his attention on stirring up his root beer float, trying to avoid her stare.

"You're really mad at me for stepping in?" Spinelli snapped, and Gus pushed his float away, pushing himself out of the booth.

"I have to go home, I have homework," he said.

"No, wait, I want to know," Spinelli argued, "Are you mad at me for stepping in?"

"Yes, I am," Gus spat finally, "You happy now?" He turned abrubtly, slamming the front door of Kelso's open and storming out. Spinelli slumped, pushing away her sundae in frustration, and pulling herself from the booth.

"That's gratitude for you," she muttered, "You stick up for a kid...bah!" She went on as she walked out the door. TJ frowned as Mikey took the abandoned desserts, eagerly eating them as well as finishing off his own shake.

"What's up with Gus?" Vince questioned, shaking his head, "It's never bothered him before when Spinelli's defended him."

"I think we should look at the circumstances," Gretchen spoke up, "A bully, first thing in the morning, Gus is surrounded by fellow peers. It's obvious. His masculinity has been challenged."

"What are you talking about?" Vince cried.

"Gus is upset because he had to have a girl stand up for him," Mikey clarified, slurping up the last of the root beer float.

"But it's Spinelli," TJ argued.

"Yes, but she is still a girl," Mikey argued.

"I don't get it," Vince muttered, "Spinelli has always stuck up for Gus, and he's always been more than happy with her help."

"But the circumstances of this case are different," Gretchen put in, "What with recent changes in both of our good friends. Gus's growth spurt, and hormonal alterations. Spinelli's…well…her own little growth…" TJ rolled his eyes. They'd all gotten used to puberty. The entire gang had pretty much gone through the embarrassing stage.

"How does that change things?" TJ demanded, "It shouldn't change anything."

"How would you feel if Spinelli came to your rescue in front of a group of students and a malicious bully?" Gretchen retorted. TJ shrugged. To be honest, he had never found himself in a position that required rescuing on any outside party's part. If he got into a situation, he was more than capable of getting himself out; whether with his more than persuasive words, or his fairly good fighting ability.

"Glad I had her in my corner?" TJ attempted, with a sheepish grin, Gretchen shook her head, "Look, in case you hadn't noticed, Spinelli bullies the bullies. She's an impressive fighter with a mean right hook, and everyone knows she's the toughest kid in school. So Gus needed a girl to stick up for him, at least it wasn't…well…you." Gretchen raised her eyebrow sharply.

"Take it back, TJ, take it back," Vince whispered harshly in his ear. Gretchen bolted to her feet with a great 'humph', and left as well.

"This is turning out to be a really cruddy after school hang out party," TJ commented, as Mikey took Gretchen's half-eaten root beer float.

"I'm sure that could have gone better, TJ," Mikey said, "Ah, dear friends, a new school year welcomed with new conflicts. Do not fear; all will be well again."

-0-0-

Gus quietly shut the door behind him as he entered his house. He could hear his mother in the kitchen humming along with the radio as she probably prepared dinner. From the sounds of things, his father was in the drawing room watching television, an old black and white film, most likely playing some chess.

"Private, is that you?" the old man called, and Gus perked up slightly.

"Yes, sir." Gus placed his shoes by the front door, moving upstairs to his room, which was spick and span. He strapped his backpack on his desk chair, and opened it up, pulling out his homework for the evening. It was his father's idea that Gus take advanced placement classes, though Gus was not particularly good at schoolwork. His door opened slightly, his father peering in.

"How was school?" Gus sighed. His father would see the unpleasant bruise on his cheek at dinner, anyways; he figured he might as well get it over with. Straightening, Gus turned to face his father, eyes on the floor. There was a heavy sigh, as the captain moved into the room. "Bullies, again?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Son, take a seat," Captain Griswold said and Gus obeyed, plopping into his desk chair, his eyes focused completely on the brown carpet of his room. His father knelt slightly, hand placed gently on his son's shoulder. "Throughout life you will always be faced with bullies, in some form or another. Until you learn to stand up to your bullies, they will haunt you forever."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Gus sighed.

"Permission granted."

"Standing up to bullies means nothing when they're pummeling you into nothing more than a pile of fleshy muck."

"You know how I feel about fighting," Captain Griswold drew in his breath.

"The better man is not measured by the size of his strength, rather the size of his honor," Gus answered.

"And…?"

"And…the battle is not won by the greater fighter, but rather the greater strategist."

"Right, then, I have the fullest confidence you can handle a bully, private," the captain said, lifting himself to his feet, "Now, get your homework done, and tomorrow at school, when that bully approaches you, do me proud."

"I'll try, sir…" Gus mumbled, "Um…dad?"

"Yes, son."

"Nothing, never mind." Captain Griswold nodded, patting his son's shoulder a last time before leaving the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Gus sighed, leaning back in his chair. He looked at the math homework laid out in front of him. He sighed, moving to his closet and opening the door where a full-length mirror was attached. Another sigh escaped his lips.

Gus was thin, gangly. He was tall, never putting on the bulky muscle his father had. He was a better runner than weight lifter. He ran his hand over his clean crew cut, and pushed up his black-rimmed glasses, tracing his fingers over the primly pressed collar of his favorite green button down shirt, shoving his hands into his dry cleaned slacks, tapping his shined black loafers on the floor.

"Hell," he muttered, "_I'd_ bully me." Gus chewed his upper lip unhappily. If Captain Griswold knew that Spinelli, a girl, had to stick up for Gus…what would the captain think of his son then? "Greater fighter? Greater strategist? I'm neither." He looked to his phone, sitting quietly on his desk. He moved over to it, lifting the receiver and quickly dialed one of the five numbers he remembered by heart. It rang several times before someone picked up, "Hello…yeah…it's me…I know, I'm sorry. I just…will you meet me at the park at eight? Please?"

-0-0-

Gretchen stood nervously on tiptoe outside of her parents' room trying to listen in as they spoke. She'd received a higher education recommendation once again from the middle school. They were interested in sending her to a special school for highly intellectual youths. Gretchen didn't want to go, but her parents were the deciding factor in the matter. She'd debated her standing in the issue, using a PowerPoint presentation and several poster board displays, and now her fate rested in her parents' hands.

It was nerve wracking, to say the least. Gretchen had received these kinds of offers before, quickly dismissing them as utter nonsense. She would never want to leave her friends behind in any way; it would be too painful. But now…now the curriculum at school was beginning to deter from the things she'd like to be learning. It was less than she wanted, never quite feeding to full consumption the knowledge bug in her brain. She craved more learning, more information, more…so much more than her current educational facility could give.

"But I don't want to leave," Gretchen cried aloud, quickly stifling her voice with a heavy hand clamped over her mouth. Her friends, her good friends that she loved and cherished, could never be admitted into the academics she would be. They were, as much as she loathed admitting it, too average. Gretchen startled in surprise when the door to her parents' room opened and her father peered out.

"Gretchen, we wish to speak to you," Mr. Grundler said. Gretchen nodded, entering the room as her father took a seat in one of the cozy chairs set up, the other one occupied by her mother. She stood before them, theirs to send wherever their whims decided.

"We've come to a conclusion," Mrs. Grundler announced, and Gretchen caught her breath, "We have analyzed the data, and reviewed the information given."

"We've deduced that this Premier Nobel Institution is a fine facility, more than capable of providing a well rounded education to a ponderous mind such as your own." Gretchen lowered her eyes, chewing her lower lip.

"However," Mrs. Grundler interjected, and Gretchen peeked up at them, "We've also deduced that our prodigy offspring is much too lacking in the necessary maturity levels to handle such an institution."

"I don't understand," Gretchen stammered, a quiver in her voice.

"We've decided you're not old enough," Mr. Grundler explained. Gretchen nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't want to go to that school, so why was she so hurt?

"Thanks mom, dad," Gretchen mumbled, leaving the room and entering her own. She closed the door securely behind her, glancing over the chemistry set-up she had on her desktop, the new high-speed computer her parents had bought her for her birthday, the multitude of various world-changing experiments she'd completed that year and had yet to file in the laboratory in the basement. There was also a vanity mirror above her dresser that caught her eye. She frowned, turning to glower at her profile and pulling her shirt tightly about her undefined body.

Spinelli was developing nicely, much to the pleasure of any passing male who happened to gaze upon her. Gretchen, however, had not changed much since her elementary school years. She was still straight as a pole, and showed no growth of any sort in the chest area. It was embarrassing. If she didn't change at all, her parents were always going to see her as a little girl. She would never be old enough in their eyes, or anyone else's.

A girl. Gretchen's frown deepened. She was wearing a blue cotton dress, less childish than the one from her youth. Her hair was a lone braid down her back; she'd gotten bangs that puffed uncertainly around her forehead. Maybe that's what TJ meant. Spinelli was a woman, or close enough, and Gretchen was a girl. A little girl. Who'd want Gretchen in their corner? How could her parents send their precious little prodigy offspring away to some spectacular school, when no one would even want her stepping up to a bully for them?

-0-0-

Spinelli stood grumpily, tightening her jacket over her shoulders. She glanced at her watch, seethed slightly, and fidgeted, kicking at the sidewalk. She saw the huddled form making its way up the sidewalk, and scowled.

"You're late," she snarled, and the boy looked up, sighing.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What did you want anyways, Gus? It's late." He nodded, frowning at the grass and the empty park.

"I'm sorry about what I said," he told her, "I know I apologized on the phone."

"But you meant it, what you said at Kelso's, I mean."

"I guess," Gus whispered, "I was more mad at myself than you."

"That what you wanted to talk about?"

"No," Gus walked to the park bench, taking a seat, and blowing into his chilled hands. Spinelli stood standoffish, grimly watching him. "I want you to teach me how to fight."

"_What_?" Spinelli shook her head, "No way, man, no way."

"Come on, please," Gus pleaded.

"I did the teaching kids to fight thing, remember? Didn't end well, _especially_ not for me," Spinelli protested.

"I'm not asking you to teach me some wrestling moves. You heard James this morning, he's going to keep at me, and he won't be the last bully too. I need to learn to stand up for myself."

"Jeez, Gus…" Spinelli muttered, slumping next to him on the bench, "I should've let that guy cream you this morning, maybe he would have knocked some sense into your thick skull."

"And what's the point of _keeping_ him from pounding me, huh? You're not always going to be there to fight my battles. You _know_ that. My father…he wants me to stick up _for myself_…I don't want to have a girl…er…no matter how strong and…um…pretty? Yeah, pretty, she is, sticking up for me." Spinelli narrowed her eyes at him.

"I know I'm going to regret this later…but…okay. I'll teach you how to fight."

"Great!" Gus exclaimed. They were silent.

"I got asked to the Welcome Back Dance," Spinelli said.

"Really?"

"I don't know if I really want to go with the guy, though…" Spinelli looked up to the sky, "He's nice, I like him. I'm excited, I guess. But still…there are things…"

"Like TJ?" Spinelli turned a glower on Gus.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Gus gulped, loosening his collar.

"You have to admit…you two are really close…and…I mean…I would think that…" Spinelli shook her head and Gus fell silent. She punched his shoulder, and he winced, groaning softly.

"Lesson number one, don't piss off the girl teaching you to scrap."

"Got it." Gus moaned.

"Tomorrow, after school," Spinelli said, lifting herself off the bench and beginning down the street homeward.

"But what about tomorrow _at_ school?" Gus demanded, "Can't you teach me something now?"

"Yeah, run."

* * *

END A/N: I'll finish the chapter soon as I can...oi...my mind's on my new Rocket Power fic (yes, for those of you who don't know, yet, I wrote a Rocket Power fic.). 

I'm soooooo bummed that I can't see those reviews, I hope I'm not hindered in viewing my reviews for this chapter. That would totally bum me out, then I'd have to write the "support" staff and curse at them...then I'll probably get kicked from the site, and never be able to finish my stories.

OH, yeah! I got the Recess: Miracle on Third Street DVD (which was really good, despite what the reviewers on Amazon may say) Anyways, in the last episode, (Yes Mikey, Santa Does Shave) TJ was dressed as a menorah in the Non-dominational Winter Pageant! But then, I'm not sure if that means anything, because TJ was talking about Santa Claus with the others, and I don't know many Jews that...uh...believe in Santa. Does anyone else think that its odd, that the school was putting on this non-demonational pageant, but the entire episode was very...hm...Christian? Just pondering. Santa is, after all, a pagan stolen figure of the Christian religion (not to mention Christmas is supposed to have some connection with Jesus, which (most) Jews don't recognize as a prophet (let's not talk about the Jew for Jesus people...)).ooooookay, now we're getting into religious conversation here, and I'm not sure I would like to be a part of _that_. I don't doubt I could trump most of you in it (knowledge wise), anyways.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and _**REVIEW**_! Even if I can't see them, it'll e-mail them to me, and those I can see!

**_REVIEW_**!

Thanks for Reading.


	12. Don't Tread On These Buds pt2

A/N: Ahhhhh! I'm back! Oh my god! I bet you all thought this one would never, ever, ever, get updated again! But I told you, I told everybody, that it would. You just had to have faith! But, you know, don't get too excited though...I don't know when the next update will be. It could be next week, it could be seven and a half more months from now. I'm soooooo sorry it took so long, you guys. But you can all thank one song. Wonderwall by Oasis. After listening to it on repeat like a bazillion times, I was totally in the mood to write for this fic again!

Okay, thanks for the reviews guys: (do I have any of my loyal reviewers left, I wonder...)

iluvdanbyrd, SteffieWitter96, xSarah, DarkAngelGaudianLight, BleedingGrey, TNPD, ChellyBurger, Sarah (again), and Madame Fist! You guys all rock. Don't be too harsh on Rocket Power. If it weren't for RP, I probably wouldn't have been writing fanfics at all. I need a change of scenery every now and then. I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry that it took me so long to get back to this one, but I always knew I would.

Anyways...SORRY! I mean...ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 10: Don't Tread on These Buds

TJ frowned at the school as he locked his bike up, Vince coming to stand beside him. Spinelli was in the distance, walking up the steps already, the boy who'd asked her to the dance, Gary as she'd divulged his name to be, was beside her. They were talking it looked like.

"You know, she was supposed to wait for me this morning," TJ muttered grumpily, leaving the bike and hitching his backpack up on his shoulder. Vince shrugged.

"Do you think he's gonna ask her to go steady?" he asked. TJ paused momentarily, curiously enough, his heart giving a heavy thud against his chest at that notion.

"Why you asking me? I don't know," he muttered.

"I figured she'd have told you something," Vince said with another shrug, "She didn't mention it?"

"_No_, alright. Can we just drop the subject?"

"Wow, you seem a little touchy today. What's the matter?"

"Nothing." TJ sighed, crossing his arms haggardly over his chest, and continuing up towards the school in silence.

"Have you guys seen Gus?" Gretchen greeted them at the door. TJ looked up, shrugging, nodding to Mikey and scowling briefly at Spinelli. She returned the stare a bit confusedly.

"No," Vince answered, "Was I supposed to have?"

"He's always here promptly at six-forty, but it's already six-fifty-three and he's nowhere in sight," Gretchen told them, eyeing her wristwatch as she spoke, "He's never late."

"That bully better not be giving him trouble again," Spinelli snarled, clenching her fists tightly.

"Be calm, dear friend," Mikey spoke up, "Remember what happened yesterday. Gus must choose to fight his own battles, or not to fight at all."

"Yeah, whatever," Spinelli muttered, "I gotta go." She turned quickly, making her way down the hall towards her classroom. The others watched silently, before Vince broke the silence.

"Poor Gus, having such a hard time. You'd think things would get better for him eventually."

"He's a tough kid," TJ commented, "He'll be okay."

-0-0-

Spinelli sat on the swing of the park eyeing Gus warily as he made his way up the path. He promptly threw his book bag to the grass and heaved a heavy sigh, falling to the ground beside it. Sweat dampened his brow and he looked worse for wear.

"Sorry I'm late," he finally gasped, "Had to run all the way here too…"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Spinelli said, jumping to her feet, "You want me to teach you how to fight you shouldn't be keeping me waiting. Get up." Gus sighed again, hefting himself to a lax sitting position, catching his breath, and then pulling himself completely up.

"What's first, ma'am?" he asked in a cordial militant tone. Spinelli looked thoughtful, before smiling and then punching his arm. He cried out, keeling within himself and clutching the now bruised flesh. "_What did you do that for_?"

"This is your lesson," Spinelli replied, "You have to learn how to take a hit."

"That's ridiculous! I came here to learn how to fight, not how to get beat up! Obviously, I already know how to do that!" Gus howled, and Spinelli shook her head, placing her hands on her hips.

"Look, you ain't gonna be doing a great deal of fighting if your opponent takes you down with one swing, got that? Growing up, my brothers took me out every chance they had. I endured hits, kicks, slams, jerks, shoves, tosses, and a whole mess of other things. There ain't no guy at school can hit me hard enough to take me down." Gus frowned, still rubbing his arm gingerly, unconvinced. Spinelli shrugged, slumping back on the swing and kicking into the air, "There's no way you'll get out of every fight you're in without taking at least one hit. You need to learn to bear the pain. No pain, no gain."

"Alright, and how do you propose we teach me this?" Gus demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Spinelli halted, a coy smirk playing along her lips.

"Well…ever since Vitto picked up the rest of his things, I have been in need of a new punching bag." Gus groaned inwardly.

"This is going to be bad, isn't it?" he whimpered, "You're going to beat me up at the park everyday?"

"No."

"Oh…good."

"We can't do it at the park, too many people. My ma and pop work all day, we'll do it at my house. Come on." Spinelli lead the way, Gus following hesitantly behind. It wasn't far to the Spinelli household, but Gus made it a lengthy trip with his trudging steps. He was none too eager to make it to the place where he'd be beaten.

Standing in the living room, Gus hovered in the middle of the floor as Spinelli encircled him with a studious stare. She was making a note of every obviously vulnerable part of his body; with a well-trained eye she examined his muscles, deciding where to strike as an opponent would strike, what areas would more than likely knock Gus out easier than others. He was shaking, visibly, and that only encouraged her to continue. There was a bully inside of Spinelli, one she was afraid of, that would rear its ugly head at opportunities like this one. She was simply thankful her heart was stronger than the bully within.

"You do sit-ups in the morning, don't you?" she finally questioned. Gus nodded.

"I wake promptly at five," he answered, "I do a set of twenty sit-ups, fifty jumping jacks, and ten push-ups. My father says that you have to have a routine…"

"That's fascinating," Spinelli interrupted, sounding as though it really weren't, "I want you to do fifty sit-ups every morning, one hundred and fifty jumping jacks, and fifty push-ups. Got that?"

"Uh…do you do this?"

"I don't have to, I know how to fight. And I pump iron with my brothers."

"Figures…"

"Hey, do you want my help or not? The first thing to fighting is a well-toned body, you have to be in shape or you'll get winded after the first round," Spinelli spat, and Gus nodded, saluting quickly and mumbling a "yes, ma'am". Spinelli paused from her rounds, "We'll start with padding. Then we'll work our way to taking the padding off."

"Oh, I like the idea of padding," Gus exclaimed, then a slight downcast, "But not so much the idea of taking them off…"

They used pillows, tying them about Gus, and for the rest of the afternoon, Spinelli beat on him. She found it quite refreshing. He spent most of the time cowering.

For the next couple days, this became their routine. And slowly, Gus would use fewer pillows. He became defter at dodging the strikes, but when one did happen to connect, he would brush it off as though it were nothing, even as it stung like hell. Then one day, Spinelli stood in front of him, hands on hips and told him not to pad up.

"Now we begin," she announced. Gus straightened, tossing a particularly battered pillow to the couch. "Make a fist," she told him and he obeyed, holding his clenched hand up flimsily. She frowned. "That's a fist? That's pathetic." She curled her fingertips, cracking knuckles, and lifted her tightly balled hand up for Gus to stare at in awe. It was a powerful weapon, without a doubt. "Now this is a fist." She dropped her arm, and stood tall, her chest puffed out, her chin jutting, "Now, hit me."

"_What?_" Gus cried in disbelief, "I can't hit you. You're a girl…and a friend, and…and you'll hit me back!"

"No, I won't," she smirked, "I promise. Just hit me." She patted the side of her arm, "Right here, come on." Gus pouted, lifting his weak fist and swinging half-heartedly at the selected area. He missed, brushing recklessly along her forearm, and connecting with her chest. He gulped, staring shame-faced at the place where his hand had come to rest. He only had a moment to realize his mistake before the world went black.

Gus woke up, in what seemed moments later to him. The television was on and Spinelli was settled on the couch, a bag of chips resting against her hip, the clicker in her hand. His head was pounding, particularly sore along his left cheek.

"What happened?" he moaned, glancing out the window to see that it was beginning to get dark, meaning he must have been out a great deal longer then he'd first assumed.

"I broke my promise," Spinelli answered casually, not so much as bothering to glance at him, "Your mom called, you should go home."

"My head hurts…"

"Yeah, that's what happens when it runs into my fist."

"I thought I was getting prepared to take hits like that…"

"Oh, I'm prepping you to take hits from average guys, not from me," Spinelli grinned, sitting up and turning the television off, "Next time maybe you'll watch your hands."

"Next time?" Gus repeated quietly, "I don't know, Spin…I don't really think your technique's working too well…"

"What technique? This is the same way I learned how to fight," Spinelli told him, leaning back and putting her feet up on the table, "'Cept I never had the benefit of beginning with padding."

"Your brothers were pretty harsh on you then, huh?" Gus asked, leaning back and trying to compose himself. He was lightheaded, and the world was spinning.

"No, not really," Spinelli shrugged, "I was harsh back. It was fun. Spinellis don't gather round the family table and play Parcheesi, it was our quality time together."

"I'm glad I'm not a Spinelli," Gus muttered receiving a particularly dangerous glare.

"You're a runner, Gus, and that's good, because you've got a lot of stamina from it. Except, you gain no rep. Why do you think bullies flock to you?"

"Because I'm a bully magnet?"

"No, because you bolt when they first advance, and it excites the predator within them. Bullies are like animals, they live for the hunt. Tomorrow at school, I want you to stand your ground when the first bully you see steps up to you," Spinelli told him, and Gus just gaped.

"But I don't know how to fight…"

"I didn't say you were going to fight," she grinned somewhat impishly, "Don't worry; trust me. I won't let anyone hurt you…too badly."

"Oh, great," Gus mumbled, sinking back to the ground momentarily before lifting himself up.

"Grab a snack in the kitchen, kid, you look like you need energy."

"I need a cold compress…"

-0-0-

TJ looked up a bit startled when the teacher called his name. He was in biology class, and they were getting their partner assignments for the next big project. The teacher was telling him he'd be working with Heather Hargrove. He looked over to where she sat. She smiled at him sheepishly, brushing her brown locks behind her ear. TJ forced a half-smile before turning back to the front of class and pretending to be paying attention.

Heather was a nice girl. She was a little on the prim side, had a small group of friends. She could be quiet, but was mostly loud and always gossiping. TJ didn't notice her much.

"Now, I think you should all meet with your class partners to discuss the project," the teacher announced, and TJ frowned, rolling his eyes before crossing the room to where Heather sat. She was still chatting with her friend beside her, obviously wanting to make him come to her. She looked up when he stopped by her desk.

"Hey," TJ greeted, "We need to talk about the project or whatever."

"Ok," she said, offering a toothy smile, and TJ looked up to the clock. He took a seat in the desk next to hers, "So we have to build our own eco-system?"

"We have to design our own eco-system," TJ corrected, "Which I'm guessing involves a lot of research, and several boring trips to the library." Heather giggled slightly.

"We can be as creative as we want," she told him, "The eco-system doesn't even have to contain real animals and organism, we can make them up, so long as they're aptly described and dependant on the eco-system. The more creative the better, which is awesome, because I am _so_ creative!"

"Oh, good," TJ mumbled, leaning on his elbow. He listened to her chat about her various ideas with disinterest until the bell rang and he practically jumped from his seat. Heather shoved a piece of paper into his hand with numbers written along it. He looked at her questioningly.

"It's my phone number," she explained, then handing him her pen, "Could I have yours? So I can call you about the project?"

"Uh…yeah…sure," TJ muttered, taking the pen and writing his own number down on another piece of paper. He made his way to the classroom door, and turned slightly when he heard Heather and her friends squealing.

"Teej," Spinelli called from the door, her own class having been across the hall. She tapped her foot impatiently, "What was that about?" she questioned, regarding the girls.

"Hell if I know," TJ shrugged, as they made their way to lunch.

They took their usual seat with the rest of the gang. Gus was sitting a bit awkwardly, pressing his cheek tenderly. There was a bright bruise along the peach flesh, a scar over his eyebrow, and he was sitting awkwardly.

"Did you get in another fight?" Mikey inquired as to the injury. Gus smiled somewhat, exchanging a look with Spinelli.

"No. I slipped down the stairs…it was a horrible fall," he murmured, before opening his lunch bag and pulling out his chipped beef on crackers. He watched the others trade their lunches solemnly.

"Hey, Gretch," Vince spoke up, mouthful of sandwich, "What's with your lips? They're all shiny. And when did you go clothes shopping?" The others looked to the flustered redhead. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail as opposed to the usual pigtails. Her lips were glossed, her cheeks and eyelids subtly powdered, and she was wearing a slim baby-tee and a skirt that came down to just above her knees. She sat cross-legged, sandals on her feet. Her toenails had been painted.

"It's nothing," Gretchen mumbled, poking at her Lunchroom Meatloaf Surprise, "My parents took me shopping the other day."

"I thought you'd already done your beginning of the year clothes shopping," Spinelli prodded, "I thought the Grundler household did all the back-to-school shopping three weeks before the first day of classes."

"And Vince is right," TJ pressed, "Your lips are all shiny. Did you get something on them?"

"No," Gretchen snapped, "It's called lip gloss! Sheesh…can I try something new? Am I not allowed to alter my look in any way without receiving twenty questions? They are my lips, I think I have a right to experiment with them!"

"Oh, sorry…" the others murmured, looking admonished to their lunches. Mikey picked up the conversation, talking about something having to do with his drama club, and the others joined in. TJ talked about a plan he had to get them out of their last period, and the others argued about the morality of the plot. When the bell rang, they split in separate directions, smiling and meeting with other peers in their next classes. Gus and Spinelli held back momentarily.

"I did what you said," he told her, gathering his books and bag, "This morning before the first bell rang. The guy threw me in the dumpster. I hurt all over."

"But you stood your ground?"

"Yeah. Until he picked me up, then I wasn't really on the ground anymore anyways," Gus muttered, grimacing as he slung his backpack over his shoulders, "Isn't there an easier way for me to not run away and not get hurt at the same time?"

"Learn to talk your way outta it," Spinelli shrugged, "Learning to fight is nothing, Gus, if you ain't brave. They'll still mess with you, and let's face it, confidence and all that shit is at least eighty percent of what fighting is all about." She turned, leaving him behind staring blankly as her words sunk in.

-0-0-

Gretchen folded her hands neatly in her lap, crossing her legs and tapping her foot. Her glasses slid down her nose and her shirt didn't fit right over her flat chest. She frowned, brushing at her bangs. Warmth permeated her skin as a slick form came to sit beside her.

"You gonna tell me what's up, Gretch?" Spinelli said keenly. Gretchen sighed.

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Well, the make-up, the new clothes, the…"

"Why is everyone so concerned over my change? It's no one's business but my own!"

"The severe attitude," Spinelli muttered, leaning back and stretching her arms over the back of the bench, "Gretch, it's me. You can tell me what's going on, you know that. I may not have Teej's charm, Mikey's sensitivity, Vince's suavity, and Gus's…um…Gus-ness, but you can still talk to me. We're both chicks here."

"Assumedly so," Gretchen replied, then heaving another hefty sigh, "I've just recently felt a need to alter my outwardly appearance into something more feminine."

"What for?" Spinelli questioned, scrunching her nose, confused by the notion of actually _wanting_ to get dressed up.

"Some girls revere the idea of becoming a woman," Gretchen stressed.

"Yeah, but why rush it? You still got plenty of time, huh?"

Gretchen turned away, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. She frowned at the cement, tears springing to her eyes with the return of those painful emotions of anger, frustration. She felt like a child and it didn't seem her good friend understood that. But why would she? Everyone already perceived her as a nicely developed young woman. Not a flat chest-ed, preteen bodied, almost there but hasn't quite reached adolescence, little _girl_.

"So it would seem," Gretchen seethed, standing abruptly and shouldering her pack. She made to storm away, but a hand clenched her wrist.

"Gretch, you're the most intelligent person I know," Spinelli continued through gritted teeth, "So you should know, growing up isn't something you push on yourself. It's something that happens over time. But you gotta wait for it."

"Well, I'm tired of waiting!" Gretchen cried, slumping, whimpering, "The more adult I want to be, the more childish I sound." She turned to Spinelli, tear-eyed, "What's wrong with me? What am I trying to do? I know its ridiculous. I was tempted to stuff my bra this morning, how pathetic does that sound? I'm too embarrassed to change in the girls' locker room with those other girls, already developed or developing. I hate standing next to you…it's so stupid, getting so emotional over all of this…"

"You're telling me," Spinelli muttered, then quickly adding, "No. It's important to you, Gretch, so it's not stupid," she sighed, dragging her friend into a hug, attempting to soothe her, "You know, you're already more adult than any of those girls who all have boobs and shit. And you're lucky, too, you know."

"How's that…?" Gretchen sobbed.

"Well, guys notice me and other girls because we got these boobs and bodies and all that crap; but when a guy notices you, you know that it's not just because you're pretty, but because he likes your personality and your brain," Spinelli explained, chuckling, "And let's be honest, Gretch, it's not like guys haven't noticed you." Gretchen chuckled too, and they broke their embrace. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, running the tip of her finger under her eye, and pulling it back stained black. They laughed, and Spinelli offered up a tissue from her backpack.

"That's the problem with make-up…" she whispered shakily, "It's _so _hard to keep neat."

"But you look nice," Spinelli commented, waiting as Gretchen cleaned herself up, "Nice and girly, I guess…hey, you'll get there, I think. It's not like it's a race or nothing, Gretch."

"I know it's not a race," Gretchen replied impudently, then smiling wryly, "When did you get so insightful?" Spinelli flushed, looking to the pavement.

"I'm sure this is just a fluke or whatever…" she stammered.

"Or perhaps you're maturing," Gretchen suggested. Spinelli smirked, shoving her playfully as they settled into the bench, comfortably leaning their shoulders against one another.

"So, you gonna keep wearing this crap, or do we get the old Gretchen back?"

"This isn't me," Gretchen mumbled, looking to her hands neatly folded in her lap, "Maybe it'll be me, one day…but it's not me now. So…I guess the answer is…no."

"Good," Spinelli smiled, laying her head on Gretchen's shoulder, "Because I like the old Gretchen, and I think it would be great if we got to keep her for as long as we could."

"I wonder what everyone will think at school, though…"

"Fuck what they think," Spinelli spat, straightening, and leaning back against the bench, "Who cares what they think? All the people who matter think that as long as you're you, all's well."

"Right," Gretchen smiled, "Though I wouldn't use such forceful language, you're right. Why should I care what everyone thinks." They were silent momentarily, "So…I heard you got asked to the Welcome Back Dance."

"Yeah."

"Do I get details voluntarily, or do I have to nag them out of you?"

"I'll talk, I'll talk," Spinelli laughed, "His name's Gary Aster, I met him over Summer hanging out at the bike shop with Vitto. His dad owns the place. He can rebuild an engine in under fifteen minutes. He knows all about bikes, and he's going to be a professional skater."

"Sounds like a dreamboat," Gretchen muttered, a bit sarcastically, and Spinelli scrunched her nose.

"I like him," she sniffed, "He's nice, he's cute…he's…cute…and…oh yeah, did I mention, cute?"

"You sound a little more than infatuated with this guy. You're even using girly words such as 'like' and 'nice' and 'cute'. This must be serious," Gretchen teased, and Spinelli shook her head, "I'm sorry. He sounds like a…a very potential…erm…significant other." Spinelli rolled her eyes.

"He's just taking me to the dance," she growled, "It's not like we're engaged or nothing."

"Alright, alright," Gretchen chuckled, holding her hands in front of herself mock defensively. She let them fall back to her lap, pushing her hair from her face with a swift hand movement, "Do you want to date him…like…going steady."

"Don't know," Spinelli shrugged.

"What do you mean? You either do or you don't."

"It's complicated, alright," Spinelli snapped, slumping, "I don't know if I like him _that_ much. I like him, but I don't know if I _like_ him. I don't really…well…I don't know him that well. I just…don't think…he doesn't get me and stuff. I don't know how to act around him, I don't know where I stand…man, I sound like such a whiny little coward, but I…sheesh…"

"What do you really want in a guy?" Gretchen questioned, brows drawn together. They'd never really talked about it. Spinelli shifted, pursing her lips as she thought.

"I don't know. I really haven't thought about it," she finally said, "I just…always…well…I kind of want a guy that I feel comfortable with. A guy that I can be myself with. Someone who doesn't look at me funny when I do all the things I do…a guy who knows he can't win arm wrestling me, a guy who talks to me not at me…a guy that…I don't know…understands me. A guy I can talk to, that knows everything I'm afraid of and everything I hate and everything I like and…"

"But you really haven't put any thought behind it," Gretchen interrupted teasingly, and Spinelli blushed, "The only guy that you know like that is…well…," she furrowed her brow and shook her head, "Never mind."

"What? Who?" Spinelli perked, "Gretch, answer me…now!"

"Oh, look at the time," Gretchen said, mock seriousness, lifting her watch and staring somewhat cross-eyed at the little hands, "Almost four o'clock, I have to…"

"It's what time?" Spinelli gasped, leaping to her feet, "I'm late! Damn. I gotta go! Later, Gretch!"

"Uh…later," Gretchen watched her friend sprint down the street, confused.

-0-0-

Gus watched silently as Spinelli demonstrated the proper way to rhythmically punch a speed bag. They were at Gus's house that evening, as Spinelli's brother was visiting and her house was occupied. His father had a good weight bench, as well as punching bag/speed bag set up in the garage. Spinelli had been impressed and quickly made short work of turning it into a proper training station. She stepped back from the bag now and motioned for him to try. Tentatively, he jabbed the lightweight sandbag, then grinned, and attempted to recreate the steady motion Spinelli had kept going. For about five seconds, he appeared to have it, until he slipped up and the wildly swinging back hit him heavily in the face. He fell back from the impact and found himself looking up at Spinelli in a daze. She had her hands on her hips and was frowning down at him, before offering a hand, which he took. On his feet once more, Gus tenderly ran a finger over his now bruised nose and sent a dangerous glower the speed bag's way.

"Am I getting any better?" Gus questioned, pouting. Spinelli looked thoughtful a moment, considering all the time, nearly three weeks now, they'd spent training. He was definitely showing an improvement in his ability to take a punch, but throwing one was a different story. He wasn't much of an athlete, or a fighter for that matter. And it was starting to look like he never would be.

"Bullies haven't been bugging you much at school lately. I noticed," she attempted a subject change. It was too early to throw in the towel, she knew, and Gus would be heartbroken if she told him all his hard work didn't seem to be paying off. It was strange, she was usually blunt about those sorts of things, honest to a fault. But the idea of crushing Gus…she couldn't do it. He was too good a friend. Maybe she was getting sentimental. She scoffed at the notion.

"Yeah," Gus smirked, "I guess it's not as fun for them when I don't run, right? Doesn't attract the predator in them."

"Yup," Spinelli grinned, before stretching and swatting at the speed bag a bit distractedly.

"I never figured anything you'd teach me would work," Gus admitted, slumping onto the weight bench and Spinelli raised an eyebrow at him.

"Then why did you ask for my help?"

"Oh no, I meant…besides the actual fighting," Gus explained, "I didn't think just…standing up to them would work…that's it." She paused, staring long and hard at the bag, before sighing and taking a seat next to him.

"At the risk of sounding like an after school movie," she started, taking a deep breath, "It actually does work. I mean, don't get me wrong, it doesn't always work. Look," she leaned back, pressing the palms of her hands into the vinyl cover over the bench, "They think picking on you is…well…fun."

"Gee, is that it? I thought they did it because it brought them a great deal of turmoil," Gus droned sarcastically, then winced as annoyance flickered across Spinelli's face, "Sorry."

"I'm trying to help you here."

"I said sorry!"

"Right," she shifted a bit awkwardly, then looked to a spot on the floor as though half seeing it, "You're a lot tougher than you think, Gus. But you're not a fighter."

"Spin…"

"Why are you doing this, man?" Spinelli demanded, her eyes flashing up to meet his, "This ain't you. Actually _wanting_ to fight. Actually _wanting_ to learn how to fight. I tried to teach you to fight in the fifth grade, remember? You pouted something awful, whined for some reason or the other, and then scampered off to go play with your goddamned GI Joes. What is this really about? You never cared about me fighting the battles for you before…"

The door to the garage opened, and the General Griswold peeked out. Spinelli fell silent, straightening and wiping the damp sweat from her brow. Gus jumped to his feet quickly, saluting his father.

"At ease, private," Mr. Griswold chuckled, and Gus loosened, hands falling to his sides, "What's going on out here?"

"We're just working out, sir," Gus piped.

"Ah," Mr. Griswold nodded, glancing to Spinelli, slumped and peering at the older man, "Miss Ashley," he greeted, "It's a pleasure to have your company. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Nope. My ma's making her special spaghetti tonight, what with Vitto being in town," Spinelli answered, "But thanks for askin', sir."

"Of course," Mr. Griswold replied with a smile, then looking to his son, "How was school?"

"Routine as always, sir," Gus answered.

"No problems then?"

"No, sir."

"Good," Mr. Griswold said, then winking, "I'll leave you two alone, now. And don't forget, we're going over those applications tonight, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, dinner's at eighteen-hundred," Mr. Griswold announced, before letting the door shut and leaving them. Gus sighed, falling back to the bench, and Spinelli stared at him with a perked eyebrow. Her lips were pressed together, and she clacked her tongue a few times to fill the silence.

"What applications?" she finally asked. Gus frowned, leaning forward and running a hand over his head.

"For private academies," Gus answered, "For next year."

"You're going away for school?" Spinelli asked, a little more panicked then she'd meant. She bit her inner cheek, looking back to the hanging punching bags, "Where to?"

"There's a few good choices," Gus mumbled, "My dad wants me to get a head start on my military career." Spinelli pressed her lips together, before slumping forward, leaning against her knees.

"And you?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to go away to school?" she clarified. Gus frowned, before walking towards the speed bag and carefully grasping it between his hands. After a long moment, he licked his lips and drew his brow together.

"I want to go into the military, and if this'll help me, then yeah…it's what I want," he answered solemnly. He didn't sound too convincing. Spinelli shifted uncomfortably, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.

"So…your father's pretty hard-up on the macho guy routine, huh?" Spinelli questioned nonchalantly, receiving a contorted glance from Gus.

"My father is a general in the United States of America Army," he told her, sounding almost automated, "He has fought in many battles, been stationed in various dangerous countries, commanded…"

"Alright, alright," Spinelli cried, throwing her hands up, "That's enough! I've heard the spiel before! I get it, I get it!" She lifted herself to her feet, smoothing the wrinkles from her t-shirt and pacing towards the garage door, pausing half-way. "I know that your father wants you to follow in his footsteps, up-hold the family honor, and all that crap. But…well…maybe it's not…well…what you're supposed to be. I know you want to impress your pops, but…you shouldn't have to change yourself to do that." She stepped up to the door, touching the knob and silent as though waiting for a reply, "You're just a kid, Gus," she mumbled, before swinging the door open and heading into the house, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Gus slumped on the weight bench, staring at the door as it quietly closed behind Spinelli's retreating form. His stomach grumbled slightly, but he ignored it. What did Spinelli know, he thought grumpily. Nothing. That was obvious. Her parents didn't care what she did. It was lucky she wasn't a juvenile delinquent, running around and bullying kids, breaking laws, and stirring up trouble. She was a stone's throw from the type of person that James Adder was, as far as Gus could tell.

Gus pulled himself to his feet, making his way to the speed bag and jabbing it slightly. He slowly worked himself into the steady rhythm, watching the bag fling back and forth as he struck it. Following in his father's footsteps, going to a military academy, up-holding his family honor, it was all what he was supposed to be. It was what his father wanted, so it was what he wanted.

Catching the speed bag mid-swing, Gus came to a decision. He had to prove it. Prove it to Spinelli, and anyone else that doubted he could be a "macho" guy. Prove to the world what he was 'supposed to be'.

-0-0-

TJ frowned, leaning his chin on his hand as he tried to listen to Heather talking about her day. The project they'd worked on together had been turned in nearly a week ago, with a stunning B-plus, a welcome rarity for TJ. After that, Heather continued to call him and talk to him in the hallways, even once showing up at his house and asking if he wanted to "hang out". Not being one to hurt feelings, TJ didn't discourage the attention, but he was starting to get annoyed.

"…anyways, Ashley A. said that my shoes were way cute, and I was, like, well, totally, duh, I wouldn't wear them if they weren't! And then…"

TJ made a grunt of acknowledgement, leaning back in his chair as he saw a familiar figure walking down the street. He grinned, ready to hurry Heather off the phone and head down to greet Spinelli when he caught sight of her companion, Gary. He frowned, watching them laughing and chatting. Gary said something, and brushed Spinelli's hair from her face as she grinned and replied and TJ felt his stomach knot.

"Heather," he interrupted the jabbering girl without thinking, "Do you want to go with me to the Welcome Back Dance tomorrow?"

"Uh…what…?" Heather stammered, obviously flabbergasted and having lost place in her story.

"Well?" TJ pressed, "Do you? The dance?"

"Uh…well…I…" she couldn't seem to remember how to speak English, making a few incoherent sounds before finally sputtering a chipper, "Sure."

"Good. I'll pick you up tomorrow at six," TJ went on.

"Ah…alright," Heather replied, and TJ quickly said a good-bye, hanging up the phone. He scooted back, staring out the window as Gary slyly slipped an arm over Spinelli's shoulders and they disappeared down the street from TJ's view.

"I hate that guy," TJ whispered to the empty room. He stood up, pacing back and forth, pounding his fist into the palm of his hand, as adrenaline raced through his veins and his body pumped with energy, "He's such a sleaze ball jerk! Who does he think he is? Huh? _Putting his arm around Spinelli_? I put my arm around Spinelli! I'm allowed to! She's my friend! But him…who the hell is _he_? He's so…goddamned…smarmy and…with his 'oh-so-suave-line' _I'm going to be a professional skater! _That's not a job! How can Spinelli stand to be around that…that…that…dim-witted…narcissistic…lecherous…_asshole_! God! _I hate that guy_!"

TJ fell back to his chair, staring disconcertingly at the telephone. He knew it wasn't rational to hate a guy he hadn't even spoken to. But something about Gary made his blood boil. He clenched his hands into tight fists, gritting his teeth. Well, that was fine. Spinelli could go to the dance with that jerk. He was going with Heather Hargrove, and it would be just fine. Because what did he care who Spinelli dated? What did he care?

-0-0-

Gus marched down the hallway with a steady pace. His confidence was overwhelming and people paused to glance at him, trying to discern who he was or what was different about that usually meek young man. He tightened his grasp on his backpack straps and saw Vince standing with Mikey near the lockers, and they made to greet Gus and call him over, but stopped mid-wave. Even they could see that something was strange about the militant strut of their good friend. They recognized that glint in his eyes, recalling it from the first and last time they'd ever seen it, fourth grade after what turned out to be a false fortune telling. They followed him with curious eyes and then their legs propelled them forward.

But Gus didn't notice them. He had only one destination in mind. He spotted Gretchen coming from the bathroom with some of her Science Club friends, but ignored her as she too caught up with Vince and Mikey with question obviously on her lips.

Only when he finally reached the end of the hallway did he stop and face the wall of lockers, and a small group of boys huddled together chatting maliciously. Gus reached forward, tapping the large boy in the front as the others stared oddly at him. The boy turned, startled at first, and then his face contorted to one of sadistic glee.

"Well, if it isn't my good buddy, worm breath."

"How's it going, James," Gus sneered, "I see you and your friends are putting your heads together on this one, but let me help you out a little so you're not scratching your heads all day. You use that little knob to put in your combination, I hope your mommy pinned it to the inside of your sweater this morning, and that opens the locker."

A good group of students had gathered around, and Gus could hear the satisfying gasp from the crowd. He smirked, but it faltered slightly as James tightened a fist.

"Cream him, Adder," one of James's friends muttered, and Gus felt himself shrinking away, but straightened immediately as he saw Spinelli from the corner of his eye, squirming her way through the crowd to see what the commotion was. He wasn't going to need her help in this one. James grabbed Gus by the collar of his shirt, tugging him forward, and Gus met his eyes.

"I'm gonna pound you so hard," James hissed, his putrid breath blasting against Gus's nostrils, "Your grandkids'll feel it."

He raised a fist to strike, but Gus moved faster, jabbing the bigger boy in the mouth. James dropped Gus, clutching his injured orifice and growling, enraged. Gus only had a moment to celebrate his victory, as James attacked, knocking him to the ground, pinning him down and repeatedly punching him in the face and gut. Gus struggled to fight back, to block, but he finally found himself whimpering and holding his hands defensively in front of his bloody face.

"Hey!" a familiar voice cut through the crowd, "Cut it out!"

James slowly relented, and Gus lowered his hands hesitantly, looking out at the crowd. He saw TJ first, standing at the front, hands crossed defiantly over his chest, glowering menacingly down at the larger boy. James pulled himself to his feet, moving so that he stood toe-to-toe with TJ.

"What?" James scoffed, "Do I have to beat the shit out of _you _too?"

"And me," Vince spoke up, moving behind TJ and clenching his fists.

"Yes, if you want to bully one of us, you'll have to bully all of us," Mikey announced with a flourish, stepping forward, hands on hips.

"Wha…?" James stammered, obviously baffled by these seemingly random heroics.

"Precisely," Gretchen conceded, stepping up next to the boys, "Well spoken, Mikey."

"Thank you, Gretchen."

"Oh jeez," James mocked, finally catching on, "This is just _so_ touching. How sweet. Worm breath's little friends are going to help him out. Great, you can all hold hands and sing while I pound you each into the ground!"

"Oh yeah?" Spinelli muttered, "You and what army?" James glanced behind him, but his friends had faded in with the crowd, eyeing the ground and sheepishly rubbing the back of their necks. He paled considerably.

"If I were you, James," TJ seethed, "I would leave our friend alone from now on. That goes for all you guys. If you want to bully our friend, you'll have to get through us."

James shook his head, muttering, "It wasn't any fun anymore, anyways," as he shoved his way through the gathered crowd.

The bell rang overhead, and a few kids lingered back slightly until Spinelli yelled at them, "show's over, get lost." Gus lay on the ground, groaning, and staring at the ceiling, unable to look at his friends as they gathered around. Gretchen knelt down, gently touching his shoulder and he jerked away, pulling himself up and turning his back on them.

"I didn't need your guys' help," he snapped, and they were all taken aback by the harsh outburst.

"Oh? Because it sure as hell looked as though you needed our help to me. What were we supposed to do? Let you get the crap beat out of you? " Vince demanded, but TJ held a hand up to quiet him.

"Gus, we're your friends," TJ told him, "It doesn't matter if you need our help or not, its there."

"Oh well that's_ great_," Gus drawled bitterly, "But now everybody in the school knows what a wuss I am, so…"

"What makes you a wuss? Having friends?" TJ cried, "How does that make you a wuss? Seems to me that makes you a pretty damn lucky guy."

"Friendship is man's greatest treasure," Mikey solemnly commented.

"Yeah? Is that so?" Gus screeched, reeling on them, "So I can go to my father and tell him, 'oh, it's fine if I can't stand up for myself against bullies at school, because I have my friends!' What kind of soldier would that make me? Huh? If I'm so goddamned dependant on you guys? How'm I supposed to win wars, and fight battles in the name of our country if I can't even fight a bully in the name of…of…_myself_?"

They fell silent, watching Gus pant, wiping at his bloody nose and sniffing, tears cascading wildly down his blood stained cheeks. His face was splotched with red, and his eyes burned intensely. They lowered their eyes, unable to even look at him. TJ set his jaw, and Spinelli cleared her throat.

"You think your father fights all them battles himself?" Spinelli asked quietly, "If _this _is who you have to be, then don't go into the army, Gus." She turned on her heel, leaving him behind, and reluctantly the others, one-by-one, followed suit, until Gus sat there on the tiled floor with only TJ staring down at him. TJ extended a hand, but Gus shook his head, so he squatted down beside him instead.

"Gus," TJ began silently, "What were you trying to prove today starting a fight with James Adder like that?"

"You ever think about it, Teej? You're the most well-liked kid in school, Mikey's the friendliest, Vince is the coolest, Spinelli's the toughest, and Gretch is the smartest. Nobody ever picks on _any_ of you," Gus sniffed, "But me? What am I? I'm the loser geek, a nobody. I'm a lamb, TJ, that's all I am to anybody."

"Not to me, Gus," TJ lamented, shaking his head and pulling himself up, "And not to the people that call themselves your friends. To be honest, I would have thought those were the only people who would have mattered. The only people you should _want _to prove yourself to, the only people you don't _need _to prove yourself to. Maybe you should think about that, Gus." With that said, TJ left as well, leaving Gus alone in the hallway, lost in his thoughts and misery.

-0-0-

TJ frowned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, running a hand through his carefully brushed hair. He loosened the collar of his button down shirt and scowled at the brown loafers his mother was forcing him to wear to the dance. He moved from the bathroom into his bedroom, and looked grumpily around at the mess. He glanced at the clock. He would have to go in ten minutes.

He stalked over to the window, glancing in the direction of Spinelli's house, wondering if he'd catch a glance of that dick, Gary, walking down the street to pick her up. He wondered what she would wear to the dance. She wasn't a dress or skirt type of person. Would she wear make-up? Not in a million years, he thought with a smirk. And then, he stopped, eyes falling on the lounging form across his front lawn. He narrowed his eyes and stared confusedly out the window for nearly three minutes, before finally turning away and grabbing his sneakers. Slipping them on, he jogged down the stairs, ignoring his mother calling after him about how, "those aren't the shoes I set out for you to wear". He tried not to move so hastily, so eagerly, pacing himself. He tried to act cool, as he sauntered over, her back to him. He paused, midway, trying to think of what to say.

"Hey, Teej," Spinelli spoke up first, and he startled. She didn't even bother looking at him, lowering her eyes to her lap. She was dressed in jeans, worn with holes ripped in the knees from overuse. And a large, red, plaid, button down shirt obviously having once belonged to one of her brothers hung loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing a white ribbed tank underneath, worn as well and her usual black boots. Her hair was tied up in a pony-tail loosely, uncombed. She did not look ready for a dance.

"Shouldn't you be on your…date," TJ asked hesitantly, biting out the last word, and Spinelli winced.

"Yeah…uh…he canceled," Spinelli murmured, straightening slightly, and TJ felt a pang in his heart. What the hell kind of jerk would cancel on his Spinelli? Well…not _his _Spinelli…but…yeah… "He had to go hang out with his grandmother in the hospital or something like that." She turned, looking up at TJ, and frowning slightly, "You're all dressed up."

"Uh…yeah…" TJ stuttered, running his hand over the back of his neck and ruffling his collar, "Uh…we…uh…just got back from the synagogue and…yeah…uh…"

He frowned. He just lied to Spinelli. Why was he lying to her? Because she looked like she didn't want to be alone. Because she was sitting on his front lawn, and she looked so lonely and distraught. Because that bastard cancelled on her and TJ hadn't done anything about it. Spinelli smiled half-heartedly and TJ fiddled with the buttons on his shirt.

"Mind company?" TJ asked.

"Nope," she answered quietly.

"Um…alright…I'll be right back," TJ told her, and she nodded, as he hurried up the steps to his house. He picked up the hallway phone, quickly dialing Heather's phone number, and tapping his foot as he waited for her to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, is Heather there?" TJ questioned.

"This is her. TJ? Is that you? Are you coming?"

"Uh…" TJ frowned, feeling guilt settle heavily in the pit of his stomach. He glanced out the front door at Spinelli, who had pulled her knees up to her chest, "Actually, something's come up. A family emergency, actually. I'm so sorry. You should still go to the dance though, since you're probably ready and everything. I'm real sorry."

"Yeah, sure," Heather muttered, sounding slightly choked, and TJ felt his stomach lurch at the disappointment in her voice. She wasn't going to go to that dance, he knew. And he doubted she had a friend, like Spinelli did, to keep her company, "I'll talk to you later. I hope everything turns out okay."

"Yeah, thanks. Later."

TJ hung the phone up, taking a deep breath, and walking back out the front door to rejoin Spinelli. He fell on the grass beside her, she smiled his direction and heat rushed to his face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be? It was a stupid dance, anyways. If he had to hang with his grandma, he had to hang with his grandma," Spinelli shrugged. TJ nodded, but he could tell that she didn't buy Gary's story for a minute, "Uh…Teej…"

"Yeah, Spin?" TJ straightened, feeling his heart beat quicken. He watched her pluck at the grass, flinging severed shoots away. She seemed fascinated by the blades, unable to meet his eyes.

"I think…this morning…Gus…I think that was my fault."

TJ stared at her in stun. He didn't know what to say, so he waited for her to continue.

"Teej, after the first day of school…after that first fight…he kind of came to me," she finally looked up into TJ's face, "He asked me to teach him how to fight. And I sort of…well…I agreed."

"You what?" TJ croaked. And she flickered her eyes away.

"Well…for the past three weeks I…well…I've been teaching him to fight."

"Spinelli," TJ stammered, "You know better than to teach other kids how to fight. After what happened that one time…"

"This was different, Teej!" Spinelli argued, facing him once more, "I wasn't teaching a bunch of kids to beat each other up, I was just teaching him to defend himself!"

"Yeah, well," TJ muttered, shaking his head, "As against you having taught Gus to fight as I am, what happened this morning wasn't your fault. You didn't tell Gus to go up to James and start a fight…" TJ hesitated, looking slightly bewildered at Spinelli momentarily, "Did you?"

"No way!" Spinelli snapped, but then looking back to the lawn meekly, "I may have _implied_ that he wasn't going to be any good at fighting…"

"You _what_?"

"Well…" Spinelli winced, looking up at him with a grimace, "I didn't mean for him to take it that I was saying he was a wuss. I _wasn't_! I _swear_!"

"Well, in any case," TJ sighed, rolling his eyes, "I still say that it wasn't _entirely_ your fault. Though maybe you could take a piece of the blame. Teaching him to fight! Honestly, Spinelli! And you didn't do a very good job of it either…"

"Hey," Spinelli spat, "It had only been three weeks. And he got that one pretty good hit in, need I remind you."

"Yeah, yeah," TJ chuckled, "I don't think any bullies'll be messing with Gus for awhile."

"It's too bad he didn't win," Spinelli muttered, "I imagine if he did, bullies wouldn't be messing with him _ever _again."

"Yeah, and if he'd won, he wouldn't be pissed at us," TJ added, frowning at the empty street.

"You think what we said'll sink in with him?" Spinelli questioned, glancing TJ's direction.

"Yeah," TJ nodded, "I think it will. He'll be mad at us for a bit, but Gus really isn't the stubborn type. He's reasonable."

"Yeah," Spinelli sighed, wrapping her arms about her knees. They fell into a respectful silence, "So…" Spinelli started slyly, looking at TJ from the corner of her eyes, "What happened to your date with Heather tonight?"

"What?" TJ gaped, "How did you…?"

"Heather's a bigger gossip than the Ashleys," Spinelli pointed out, "It was all over school by lunch time that you were taking her to the Welcome Back Dance." TJ frowned, brushing at his immaculate pressed slacks, his mind quickly spinning for an excuse.

"Well…uh…she made a comment about how lame she thought Señor Fusion was and that pretty much ended things," TJ mumbled.

"Yup," Spinelli replied, "You don't mess with Fusion." TJ nodded, and they chuckled slightly, falling into another silence. He glanced at her, watching as her shoulders rose and fell unsteadily with her breath. She was putting on a good act of indifference, but the dissapointment was obvious. She'd wanted to go to that dance. For whatever reason, she had wanted more than anything to go to that dance. In a spur of the moment idea, TJ pulled himself to his feet, extending a hand towards Spinelli.

"Whelp," he announced, "Let's dance."

"What?" Spinelli choked out, obviously taken aback, "What are you talking about?"

'Let's dance," TJ repeated, then shrugging, "Look, the way I see it, we were both supposed to go to the Welcome Back Dance, and didn't. At least one of us should get a dance tonight, this way, we both do."

"You want to dance now? Right here? Right in your front lawn? There's not even any music!"

"So," TJ retorted, then grinning his disarming grin, and saying cheekily, "Unless you're scared of what everyone will think?"

Spinelli shook her head at him, looking out at the street long and hard, before taking his hand and letting him help her up. He smirked triumphantly. No one knew how to get to her like he did, and from the look she was giving him, she knew that as well as him. For a moment, they awkwardly debated over where to put their hands, until they settled for placing them on one another's shoulders. They moved slowly, uncertainly, standing about a foot and a half apart and watching their feet to make sure they didn't trample all over one another, cheeks flushed.

"I…uh…" TJ started, his voice quavering, "I'm…uh…sorry your date cancelled." He met her eyes and she pressed her lips together, her eyes shining and her cheeks distinctly tinged pink. How come he'd never noticed before how pretty she looked in the moonlight? "Any guy would be crazy to cancel on you," he blurted out, as a soft smile creased her features. He made to smile back, but quickly caught himself, stammering instead, "Uh…strictly speaking as a…um…friend."

"Of course," Spinelli whispered, "As a friend."

TJ's hands slowly slipped to her waist, coming to rest lightly on her hips, and she didn't seem to complain as she stepped slightly closer, her fingers drawing about his neck. They moved slowly back and forth in the dark night, eyes lowered and cheeks bright red in complete silence. Swaying to their heart beats. She lowered her cheek to his shoulder, and he said nothing as a few silent tears seeped through his shirt. He imagined she was feeling the way…well…Heather was probably feeling at that moment. But his heart wasn't aching for Heather, and Heather wasn't the girl he was holding close in his arms. Heather wasn't the girl he wanted to kiss at that moment. Heather wasn't the girl that was making his body flow with warmth, his mind reel, and his heart pound erratically. Heather wasn't the girl he was possibly falling in love with.

TJ frowned, curling his hands into the small of Spinelli's back. Oh, he was in such trouble.

-0-0-----------------------Present Time----------------------0-0-

Gretchen carefully picked up the remote control from where Gus had abandoned it on the sofa arm. TJ stood stoically in the entryway, not having moved a muscle all night, and Vince sat stiffly on the sofa. Gus had retreated to his room, though he'd expressed no interest in the others leaving. So they'd all sat there. In complete silence, watching the time tick away. Now Gretchen turned the television to the news station, as nobody had been watching the corny sitcom that had droned on in the background of their tense quiet. It had just been the channel Gus had left the television on.

"What are you doing?" Vince asked, his voice sounding somewhat groggy from lack of speaking. Gretchen slipped onto the couch next to him, their shoulders flush.

"Mikey's press conference comes on now. He said he wanted us to watch it," she answered, her voice just above a whisper. TJ straightened slightly, moving to see the television, but still managing to appear disinterested.

"Oh…oh yeah," Vince recalled, pulling himself up so that he could clearly see the screen.

Mikey was stationed behind a podium, lights flashed as photographers took their pictures and people, most likely journalists, were buzzing in the background. His agent stood to his left, his father to his right. The word "live" was printed in bright white at the top of the screen, and a rolling blue banner at the bottom streamed an announcement that the alleged convenience store robber that had shot a clerk that morning was now under custody, that protestors had finally made negotiations with the landscaping company, and that Madonna had declared the dates for her next tour. Mikey's name, 'Michael Blumberg' was written in small, neat print bellow him. He cleared his throat.

"I would like to thank everyone for coming," he started, his voice booming and echoing through the room, reverberating back to him and causing uncalled for static as technicians rushed to turn the microphone down, "I would like to announce," he began again, "That as of tomorrow, I, Michael Blumberg, will be entering St. Rosenthal Rehab Clinic." Gretchen's hand came to her mouth, Vince drew in his breath, and TJ narrowed his eyes at the screen. The back door cracked open slightly and glossy eyes peered out. "I have…" Mikey began slowly, taking a moment to compose himself and let the uproarious journalists calm down, as lights flashed like mad. When they finally fell silent, he started up once more, "For years now, I have been fighting with a drug addiction. This decision was not made lightly…and…I would like to take this moment to clear up those rumors surrounding my recent admission into the hospital. I had overdosed on cocaine," he paused again, taking a deep breath, and blinking away some emotional tears, "I can only say that my addiction is something I am ashamed of. I…" he choked slightly, using his thumb and forefinger to swiftly wipe the tears from his eyes, "I'm just…tired…tired of…" he looked up again, directly into the camera and it was as though he weren't talking to the journalists, to the fans, to the billions of people across the nation watching channel 8 at the moment. But as though he were speaking to the four young adults standing in a grimy apartment watching with bated breath and misty eyes, as though the connection between the five friends ascended that of television, or fame and distance, as though they stood in the same room once more in their own little world as they had been so often in their youth growing up together, "I'm tired of using her as an excuse. I can't blame her anymore for my weaknesses, for my failures and faults. I relied on her too long…I was too dependant on her…and…to be honest, we all were.

"I'm sorry…god…I'm so sorry, for all the pain I've caused all of you. For all the things I've done to hurt the gang…because you know, you know that I love all of you. And I know you all love me, you guys, I really do. And I know, that I need help. God, I need help. Because…because I want to be able to think about her…to remember her…without wanting to curl up inside myself and die. Because…because you were right, Teej. Goddamn, you're always right. I don't want her to be ashamed of me…and I don't want to forget her and everything she stood for. You all love each other too…and you're all strong. She knew that…she really did…you just have to remember that we need each other, we're strong together. We were strong because of her…but…but she was strong because of us. I have to get better…we all have to get better…" he lowered his eyes, tears now flowing freely down his face, "There's an angel looking down on us…and…and I don't want her to be disappointed at what she sees, anymore. I'm going into rehab…for her," he looked up, once more, eyes boring through that camera to the four friends silently staring back, "For all of you," he seem to snap back to the press conference then, breaking the connection, and the four young adults blinked their eyes and lowered their faces, "Thank you." He turned, walking beyond the screen, and his agent stepped forward, ready to take questions. With an unsteady hand, Gretchen raised the remote control, turning the television off. She swallowed hard, and could hear the others breath coming in sharply.

They heard Gus's door creak, and his lithe form entered the room slowly, head hanging and shoulders trembling. He looked up at the others with hollow eyes, face drenched with his tears, and the others looked back unsurprised, realizing that their faces were damp as well.

"It's good," Gretchen spoke up, her voice a high-pitched squeak, "That Mikey's going into rehab…" She trailed off and the others mumbled agreement. Gus stepped towards TJ and they held each other's eyes for a long time.

"I loved her," Gus said steadily, "As much as you, not the same way, but just as much. That's my excuse." TJ nodded slowly.

"I know," he croaked, "It just hurts so much…I can't imagine anyone hurting as much as me…but…I know." He moved forward, embracing Gus like a brother, and reverently Gretchen and Vince moved forward as well to embrace the two young men as well. They stood in a small circle, looking at one another and Gretchen chuckled slightly, running her index finger under her eyes.

"Look at us," she said, "One would doubt we were adults, the way we're acting." The others chuckled slightly as well, until it trailed off into silence.

"I can't believe Mikey's going into rehab," Vince sighed, slumping next to TJ against the door, "What'll we do without him?"

"It won't be for long," Gretchen told them, "He'll have an isolation period, where he won't be allowed visitors, and then we'll be able to come see him. It won't be like…he'll still be there."

"We're all still here," Gus found himself saying, "Thanks for coming over, you guys. I know…I know that no matter what happens, I can always count on all of you. Uh…I don't have much…but are you guys hungry? I'll throw something together, I haven't eaten since I got the…uh…the letter."

The others mumbled, "sure's" and they followed Gus into the kitchen, as he made his way to the refrigerator, but TJ held back by the door. He felt a darkness consume his heart once more, as he watched his friends prepare a quick snack. It was as though he were watching through a window, as though he weren't part of the scene at all. He couldn't help but remind himself, they weren't _all_ still there.

* * *

END A/N: I sincerely hope that this super long chapter (because it is super long...like 10000+ words long...) helps make up for my long absence. This is by far one of my least favorite chapter in this story. I still maintain, though, that this is my favorite of all my fanfictions. I'm just not satisfied with Mikey's speech at the end. What did everybody else think? HuH? huh? Inquiring minds wish to know.

I'm so very bummed out. I lost the sheet of paper I had, that I had outlined this entire story out on. I was going to change the ending anyways, but I wasn't going to change it so much from my original ending...so I needed that damn outline...now I got to tear my room apart for it...oi...

Once more, I'M SOOOOOOOOOOO SOOOOORRRRRYYYY! Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and please **_REVIEW_**! I lay myself prostrate before you, my cherished and beloved readers/reviewers. Please accept my humblest apologies and leave me a nice **_REVIEW_** that I love oh so much!

Thanks for Reading.


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